


Wherever You Will Go

by Demonicputto



Series: By My Side [3]
Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Canon Compliant, Chapter Specific Warnings in Author's Notes, M/M, Past Child Abuse, Past Drug Addiction, Period-Typical Homophobia, Puberty
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-29
Updated: 2020-11-11
Packaged: 2021-03-05 21:28:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 17
Words: 94,369
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25532113
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Demonicputto/pseuds/Demonicputto
Summary: After four years as a human child, Aziraphale has mostly grown accustomed to his situation. He’s used to living in the care of adoptive parents, used to homework and dance class. He’s even used to Anthony, the small, human incarnation of Crowley who doesn’t remember a thing about who either of them really are.But if there is one constant in human life, it’s that things are always changing.After four years as a human child, Aziraphale stands on the verge of adolescence and all the uncomfortable physical and social changes that it promises. It will mean more secrets between him and his human parents, more struggles with the younger Anthony who feels left behind, and more than Aziraphale’s fair share of embarrassment.Still, all those struggles will be worth it if he can stay by Anthony’s side and keep him safe. After all, there are far worse things in the world than the simple mortification of growing up.(Part 3 of the By My Side Series. The first chapter is written so that you start here but it's ideally read after the rest of the series).
Relationships: Aziraphale & Crowley (Good Omens), Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Series: By My Side [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1654357
Comments: 634
Kudos: 356





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welcome to Part 3 of the "By My Side" Series. If you're new here, give the first couple chapters a try. If you find yourself enjoying them, please go back and read the first parts of the series.
> 
> If you've already read the first two parts: thanks for coming back!

December 1999

One millennia ago, when Aziraphale had wondered where he’d be in the year two thousand, this was not what he’d imagined. There were the technological advancements of course- he could have never predicted the printing press or fire arms or electric lights. Counting the changes since the industrial revolution alone could have taken him all night. Then there were other things he wouldn’t have guessed at- the apocalypse, standing up to heaven, his changing relationship with Crowley.

But even then, even if you’d asked him nine years ago where he’d be tonight, he would never have gotten it right. He would never have said: _Sitting in a low-rent flat above the Fellowship Hall of a Methodist Church in the northeastern United States, drinking pop and eating crisps as Crowley soundly defeated him at some sort of Virtual Board Game_.

And if, somehow he’d been able to come up with that, he would still have missed out on the most important detail. Aziraphale would not have guessed that he would have the appearance of a thirteen-year-old boy or that Crowley would only look eight, and would have no idea who either of them actually were.

“Ezra, you want to play again?” Anthony, for that was the name he went by now, looked hopefully up at him from a golden pair of nearly human eyes. Over the last three years, Aziraphale had grown used to this version of a well known face. Although it did seem to change much more than the last one, growing and reshaping as one might expect from any child aging from five to eight.

Aziraphale quirked an eyebrow at him, “Do I want to play again? After losing to you thrice? Hardly.”

A mischievous and very Crowley grin appeared on the boyish face before Anthony shrugged and shut off the gaming system. Then he fumbled with the television remote, searching for something new to entertain them.

Aziraphale plucked a crisp from the bowl on the coffee table in front of them and thoughtfully plunged it into the three layer Mexican cheese dip beside it. There were worse ways to ring in the new year, all things told. The nosh was passable and even if most of their shared history was gone he was still sharing it with Crowley.

One thousand years ago he wouldn’t have dared to hope for that.

There was a knock on the door and Anthony fumbled the remote, leaving the television on some new millennia broadcast. They both turned to look as the door opened, without either of their say so, and Pastor Elijah Clark popped his head in.

“How you boys holding up? Think you’re gonna make it to midnight?”

Elijah Clark was head of the Westwich Methodist Church and the adoptive father of one ‘Ezra Fell’. He was a kind and open hearted man, in most situations, although he had particular ideas about how a boy ought to behave that had caused the occasional head butting with Aziraphale in the past. Just now, however, he looked approvingly at the empty cans of cola and mess of game controllers. Apparently this was how he expected a boy would want to spend New Year’s Eve.

“Of course we’re gonna make it. I’m practically nine,” Anthony said. He had a lot of confidence for a boy who’d passed out 9:43 the previous December.

Elijah tried not to smile at him, “Right. I shouldn’t have asked. Anyway, if you guys are interested, you’re more than welcome to join the party downstairs and ring in the new millennium with everybody else. Or you can go play with the other kids in the Sunday School room.”

The church had opted to hold a New Year’s Eve celebration this year, on account of the particularly momentous change of date. The gathering was mostly older adults without much else going on in their lives and a few young families who’d jumped at the chance for a party that included free babysitting. They were all gathered down in the Fellowship Hall with a jerry-rigged television and an unfortunate taste in music.

Aziraphale shook his head. “I’d much prefer to enter the new year in present company, thank you, Father. And you know, it’s not actually the new millennium. There was no year 0, the calendar goes straight from 1 B.C. to 1 A.D. So the millennium changeover is actually next year, in 2001.”

Elijah blinked at him a few times as though trying to find the right word. He settled on, “Well, we’ll have to throw huge party again next year then, huh?”

There was a long silence. Then he continued, “Well, just remember we’re right downstairs if you need anything. And your mom and I will come up to get you, Ezra, when the party is over.”

Then he closed the door and left Aziraphale and Anthony alone once more. Anthony wrinkled his nose at the television. “I thought there’d be more music but they just keep cutting to commercials and old guys talking. Why they gotta talk so much?”

“Well, it’s a rather big date, well it shouldn’t be but they’re acting like it is, and I suppose in the grand scheme of thing it’s easy to lose a year here or there.”

“Huh?” said Anthony.

“What I mean is, a new millennium isn’t a very common thing at all. I suppose it might be difficult for you fathom, since you’ve never seen the turn of a decade let alone a century. But most humans will never see the millennium change over; it’s far too rare an occurrence. In fact this is only the second time it’s happened since anyone took to using the A.D./B.C. way of counting years. And last time hardly anyone was literate enough to care.” Anthony still looked confused. “This is the only time you’ll ever experience it in your… in this life. Even if you live to be five hundred years old. So it’s no wonder they keep talking about it.”

“Oh… wow…” Anthony’s face was scrunched in heavy thought as he tried to wrap his head around that length of time. The importance dawned on his face. “Is that why the computers are getting mad? Should we be doing something special?”

“You needn’t worry about the computers. People who understand that sort of thing have made sure it will all turn out alright. And, well, we are doing something special. If I could live for six millennia I can’t think of anyone I’d rather spend them with.”

This time when Anthony wrinkled his nose it was an attempt to hide an embarrassed little smile. “That’s not true.”

“It is. Honestly. Nothing could be truer.”

* * *

December 999 A.D.

Aziraphale was a pleasant sort of exhausted, the type that came from a good day’s work. He’d been at it since morning, visiting home and abbey with blessings for the coming year. The humans seemed quite excited about it, though no more than usual. It seemed most of them hadn’t been keeping up with their own calendars. They didn’t realize this one was quite so momentous.

Aziraphale knew, of course. He loved the way humans worked so hard to make sense of their world, finding new ways to mark and measure, order and observe. Besides, the one thousand year mark made a nice little excuse for a few extra blessings here and there. If Gabriel gave him guff about it, he’d have something to write on the paper work.

The bells would be tolling the new year within the hour, and Aziraphale had declared his work over for the day. He passed through the city gates, raising no alarm because he did not want to. The breeze that night was chilly, as one might expect in a northern country such as this, and Aziraphale pulled his cloak tight around his shoulders.

Deciding that one more miracle wouldn’t tip the scale, Aziraphale made himself a small fire the easy way and settled down beside it. He’d brought a small basket, containing a loaf of bread and a spot of cheese with him, and he began to nibble. He hoped that made it look like he wasn’t waiting for someone.

He was though and he’d been looking forward to it for the last six hours. Aziraphale hadn’t expected to run into Crowley; he never did. It always just seemed to happen. Yet there he’d been when Aziraphale had ducked into an inn for warmth: hood pulled down over his eyes, whispering bad ideas into some poor man’s ear. The demon and his victim had been gathered close by the fire and so Aziraphale had had no choice but to get closer. And of course as an angel he couldn’t simply ignore the situation. He’d reminded the man of a chore that needed doing elsewhere and freed him from Crowley’s demonic influence.

At that point it would have been rude to leave, so he’d sat down beside Crowley while he warmed his hands.

“I nearly had him adulterating with the barmaid, angel. Did you have to scare him off?”

Aziraphale had raised his nose in the air. “Of course I did. Think of the poor man’s wife.”

“I did. She’s been shagging the blacksmith of her own accord. Figured I’d level the playing field.” When Aziraphale had responded with no more than a tut, Crowley had pulled his chair in closer.

Suddenly aware of all the eyes around them, Aziraphale had hopped back to his feet. “Oh, well, I’m sorry if I- well, I’m not sorry. It was nice to-well, I… I only came in to get warm.”

Then Crowley had looked at him, smiled just so, and in that moment Aziraphale had become so flushed that he didn’t think he’d ever need to warm up again. Crowley stood, leaned down and whispered, “Meet me on the other side of the gate just before midnight. I’ll bring something so we can ring in the new year right.”

Then he’d kept walking as though he hadn’t said anything at all. Aziraphale had told himself that he would not be joining him, most certainly not, then proceeded to come up with excuses why it would be acceptable. He’d settled on viewing it as keeping the demon out of trouble. Who knew what powers he’d have at such a witching hour? Any angel would do what needed doing to keep him away from the humans.

And so Aziraphale sat, waiting by his little fire, casting glances over his shoulder toward the gate. Waiting.

At just the point when he began to think Crowley had played a cruel trick on him, a lanky shadow sauntered out from the gate. Aziraphale tried to be cross.

“You certainly took your time.”

“I said before midnight. I haven’t heard any bells yet, so it’s still before midnight, init?” Crowley settled carefully beside him and then pulled something out from the folds of his cloak. It was a wooden cup, full to the rim. It must have taken a miracle to move like that without spilling any. “Snuck this out under the alewife’s nose. Thought we could use a little liquid cheer.”

He passed the ale over to Aziraphale who took a sip. It wasn’t like the wines one could get back in the good old days in Rome but it wasn’t bad either. Certainly took the edge off a nippy evening. He handed the mug back, and offered up his basket, “If you’d like a bite to eat, I’ve got a little here.”

“Nah, you keep it. This here’s enough for me.” Crowley gestured to the ale before taking a hardy gulp and licking the foam from his lips. The ale made its way back and forth after that, never daring to run out. They sat in a companionable silence, watching the flickering flames until the city bell rang.

“I suppose that’s it then. We’ve entered the year one thousand.”

Crowley pulled his head back, “We did? When did they decide that? What in the he- What are they measuring from?”

“The birth of Christ, I believe,” Aziraphale told him.

Crowley’s mouth did a funny little down turn as he nodded his head, “Guess that works. Well, then, angel, if we’re in a new millennium-”

Aziraphale, not quite drunk but pleasantly tipsy, interrupted him, “It’s not actually a new millennium. You see, there was no year zero which means-”

“Fine. Either way, what do you think the next thousand’ll bring?” Crowley asked.

“For the two of us?”

The alcohol and the fire must have been getting to the demon because he became rather red in the face. “I meant more for them, but yeah, us too. You and I, I mean.”

Aziraphale didn’t know what else he might have meant by ‘us’. “I can tell you one thing, I won’t be agreeing to that silly suggestion of yours, so don’t bring it up if that’s what you’re angling for.”

“Wasn’t angling,” Crowley insisted. “Not tonight. It’s still a good idea though. Be a lot less work for both of us. But that’s not what I was getting at. Just making conversation.”

Aziraphale squirmed a bit guiltily, then tried to get the moment back. “Well, there’s no telling what will happen with the humans. They’ve come so far since they were just naked in the wilderness. They always seem to be discovering something or making something new. I’ve heard there are some quite amazing things being done in the far east just now. They’ve learned to make things go ‘boom’.”

“Boom?” Crowley repeated. Aziraphale couldn’t tell if he were being made fun of or not, so he ignored it.

“Whatever they come up with I suppose we’re just along for the ride. That’s the hand our respective sides have dealt us.”

“S’not a bad hand, really.” Crowley’s hood had long since come off and he stared now at Aziraphale with a look too heavy to be borne.

The angel giggled because he didn’t know what other sound to make. “Well, uh, I uh, suppose not. It’s been lovely seeing you, but I should be off.”

Mercifully, Crowley did not ask to where. Aziraphale would not have had an answer. Instead, he reached for the hem of Aziraphale’s cloak and looked up at him. “We’ll drink to the next millennium too, alright?”

And against his better judgement, Aziraphale had nodded.

* * *

December 1999

This time there was no knock on the door. There was the scratching sound of someone fumbling for the doorknob and then it swung open revealing Anthony’s mother, Maddy Drake. It was no wonder she’d struggled to get inside. Cradled in her arms was a full glass bottle and jumble of plastic champagne flutes.

“Give me a hand, Tony.” She’d hardly needed to ask. He’d vaulted over the back of the couch already and got the bottle from her hands before it could go smashing to the floor.

The boy crinkled his nose, frowning at the beverage label. “You’re not supposed to drink.”

“I know. Sparkling Cider hasn’t got any alcohol in it.” Maddy placed the flutes out on the small dining table and smiled. “Which means, you two can have some with me.”

A few years prior, when Anthony and his mother had still lived with his father, Maddy had sought refuge from his abuse in a variety of narcotics. Although alcohol had not been a _particular_ vice of hers, the program she’d gone through had suggested complete abstinence from such things. Tony had spent a year living with the Clarks before she’d been in a position to move into the small church apartment and be his guardian again. His concern was understandable.

“Are they having champagne downstairs then?” Aziraphale asked.

“Yup.” Maddy paused a moment as she dug through the drawers of her kitchenette looking for a bottle opener. “I figured I’d come up here before a bunch of old people try to peer pressure me.”

“I doubt you're missing anything. I went with Father to the little Off License when we were running errands. He knows nothing about Champagne. Picked what looked like a simply atrocious vintage.”

Maddy stopped in the middle of filling glasses to give him a bewildered look but ultimately decided not to say anything. Instead, she handed a champagne flute to each of the boys. Aziraphale gave it a sniff and sighed. He had nearly a decade to wait until he could celebrate New Year’s the way he liked.

For his part, Tony held his glass far from his face. “It looks like bubbly pee. I don’t want it.”

“It’s just fancy apple juice, Tony, and it’s for a tradition. You take a sip a midnight. If you don’t like it; you don’t have to finish.” Maddy plopped herself on the couch and her son climbed up to settle in her lap.

It was always a little strange for Aziraphale to see them together. Mostly it was a joy to know his friend was so cherished and happy but, after six millennia of just the two of them, it felt odd. Especially as Aziraphale had found himself increasingly snippy with his own human family, often for reasons he could not explain.

He curled up in his own lonely corner of the sofa and eyed the clock. Just about ten minutes to go then.

“Almost midnight! So, what do you guys think will happen?”

“ ‘Bout the computers exploding?” Anthony asked. He’d been rather intrigued by all the ‘Y2K bug’ reports on television, although the adults kept telling him not to worry about it.

Maddy did so again. “No. It’ll be fine. They had, like, scientists fix it. You don’t need to be scared.”

Anthony looked a little disappointed, as though he’d been half hoping his Furby would rise up to destroy them all.

“Oh, a millennia is such a long time, it’s difficult for most humans to truly fathom. Just looking at the changes the species has made in the past one hundred years is impressive. Let alone if you look back where it was in the thousands. If I were to hazard a guess, I’d say there’s something to this computer business and I-”

Maddy and Anthony were looking at him with slight confusion, although neither was rude enough to interrupt. Aziraphale flushed, “Did you just mean in the coming year?”

“Yeah, but if you want to talk the next thousand, there’s nothing wrong with that,” Maddy smiled at him. “Although, you’re right. I’m not very good at imagining that far ahead. Shit, if you’d asked me just _ten_ years ago where I’d be now, I don’t think I would have gotten a single detail right.”

Aziraphale clinked their plastic cups together. “I’m with you there.”

Maddy laughed, “If any three-year-old was thinking ten years in advance, I’d believe it was you.”

“In ten years…” Tony said very slowly, as though the thought was dawning on him in the moment. “We’re going to be all grown up.”

Aziraphale smiled, “I’d hardly consider eighteen all grown up.”

“It is!” Tony insisted. “It counts. And you’ll be twenty-three. That’s really old.”

Maddy, who’d celebrated her thirtieth birthday a few months back, humphed. “It’s not _that_ old. Besides, you don’t have to look that far ahead for some major changes. This time next year, Ezra will be in high school.”

“I’d rather not think about that,” Aziraphale admitted. There was no love lost between him and the middle school experience, but high school seemed rather intimidating. The American film industry made so many pictures about it that he could only imagine it was a rather big deal. That and some of his classmates had already begun to shoot up like weeds. He knew exactly what height he’d reach at some point but just now he seemed to be stalling on the wrong side of puberty. Although, he wasn’t exactly looking forward to _that_ either. If only the new year could bring him straight to 2010 and he could skip such unpleasantness entirely.

“Angel?” Anthony asked, voice unusually small. Aziraphale looked at him curiously, nodding for him to continue. “Just ‘cause you’re going to high school nothing’s gonna change, is it? You and me will still be friends next year and in ten years and forever?”

The television and every human in the room down below them began to chant as one, counting off the last seconds of the millennia. In the peripheral of Aziraphale’s vision the glittering Time Square Ball made its descent. Then there was a chorus of Happy New Years from every direction as Maddy threw her arms into the air.

Anthony and Aziraphale were still looking at one another and so the angel raised his plastic champagne glass in a toast. “All eternity could not stop me from caring about you.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Heads up for new readers:
> 
> This chapter includes sections from Anthony's POV (well, third person limited from his POV) and he uses different naming conventions when referring to both himself and Aziraphale. When it's one of his sections, Aziraphale is Ezra and Anthony is Tony.

August 2000

It would be a difficult task to rank the unexpected things Aziraphale had experienced since taking on a human form but his friendship with the girls he met in dance class would certainly have made the list. It wasn’t the relationships in and of themselves that were strange, but the activities that came with them. He’d now had his share of adolescent birthday parties, heard far too much about celebrity crushes and watched horrified from the sidelines during what his adoptive mother, Edith, and Maddy knowingly referred to as ‘girl drama’.

At present he sat by the door in a woefully uncomfortable, purple inflatable chair, watching as Keisha Walker pulled a parade of outfits from her closet. Also present were Rachel Bateman, who lay stretched out on her belly on Keisha’s bed, and Molly Jones, who sat beside her fiddling with a transparent, blue, radio.

Aziraphale was becoming immune to the particular brand of sugary bebop that sound tracked his every experience with them.

“So, I’m thinking these jeans and the red tank. I’d wear the crop top, but my mom said that was summer ‘only’. And I’ve got this new choker at the mall last week, which might fit, but like I don’t know, what do you think?” Keisha bit her lip and turned to those assembled for advice.

“I’m sure you’ll look lovely in any ensemble you choose,” Aziraphale told her, feeling rather out of his depth.

“And it’s not like it matters anyway, Keisha. You’re sure to be popular no matter what, since you already made cheerleading. _You’ve_ got nothing to worry about,” Molly said. She had also tried out for cheerleading and had not made the team. “And you’re the only one who’s still going to be taking dance classes. The rest of us are just a bunch of misfits now.”

“At least you won’t look like a freak.” Rachel sighed dramatically. “My braces don’t come off until November. I’m basically screwed.”

“You’ll be fine, Rachel.” Keisha rolled her eyes. “You’re the only one of us starting high school with a full pair of boobs.”

“Not in front of Ezra!” Rachel squealed and chucked a pillow. This was followed by a great deal of playful squabbling and shrieking. Aziraphale tried to distract himself with the contents of Keisha’s bookshelf. Whatever _The Princess Diaries_ was about, the cover was certainly a shocking shade of pink.

Eventually the girls collapsed in a heap of giggles. Through her laughter, Keisha managed a half-hearted apology. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable. It’s just, it doesn’t seem weird to talk about those kinds of things in front of Ezra. He’s like our baby brother.”

“I _beg_ your pardon!” Aziraphale, who generally viewed the girls with a grandfatherly sort of affection, scoffed. “We’re all the same age.”

Molly bit at her lip, “Well, not exactly. You don’t turn fourteen until like almost November.”

“Yeah and boys grow slower. You’ve been shorter than even Keisha for, like, a year and half,” Rachel added.

Aziraphale rose, with as much dignity as one could maintain when exiting an inflatable chair, and strode toward them. “I’ll have you know, I’ve grown quite a bit this summer. I had to purchase a whole new wardrobe. I’ll be taller than the lot of you before long, I’ve no doubt.”

The moment he said it, he wondered why he cared. He’d been doing that more and more lately, snapping over silly things that he knew didn’t matter. He didn’t like it.

“I know. We’re just teasing,” Molly said. Then she fluttered her eyelashes. “We all noticed you were getting taller.”

The poor girl kept circling back on an infatuation with him that would only set her up for disappointment.

“You’re not going to abandon us when you start shaving and have a girlfriend and stuff are you?” Rachel asked him. “Just like Keisha’s not going to stop hanging out with us just because she’s going to be a cheerleader and the only one still taking dance.”

The truth was, their group friendship was likely to be dashed on the rocks of a new moment in their lives. Keisha, the only one talented enough to continue into the advanced levels at their dance school, was unlikely to have much time for any of them. She was a sort of lynchpin and without her they’d all scatter to the winds.

This did not seem like a particularly calming thing to say to a child a week before she attended a new school, so Aziraphale grasped at a different truth. “I don’t think you need to worry about me leaving you all because of a girlfriend.”

“Ezra, you just said you were starting to get taller. You’ll be interested in girls soon enough,” Molly said, likely to ensure herself as much as him.

He made no response. He wasn’t entirely sure where puberty was planning to take him but he knew it wouldn’t be in that direction. If Aziraphale had had his druthers, he would have aimed himself toward asexuality but he was starting to think he might be out of luck. The last time Rachel had shoved one of her boy band magazines under his nose, he’d found himself paying far more attention than he would have only a month prior. When she’d gotten to a page that featured one of them shirtless lying in the sand, he’d become so flustered that he’d turned beat red and gone to the bathroom to splash water on his face.

It wasn’t that any of this was entirely new to him in the grand scheme of things but it had been totally absent over the last five years and before that it had been optional. If he felt like experimenting he could put in the necessary effort and make himself interested. If he wanted to focus on other pursuits he could turn that sort of interest off like a light switch. Humans didn’t have that sort of luxury. Whatever roll of the dice they got was what they had to deal with. Just as they had no say over so much else about themselves.

Still, it didn’t quite seem fair that his human form should be saddled with both myopia and libido. Glasses and attraction were much more fun as an option.

“Leave Ezra alone, guys. He doesn’t want to talk about it.” Keisha gave him an understanding sort of smile and he wondered if perhaps she suspected the truth behind his words. If she did, it clearly didn’t bother her.

The conversation came to a clear end anyway, as the sound of little feet pounding on the stairs caused them all to look up. The intruder didn’t knock but swung the door open wide. Anthony stood there, eyeing the girls with suspicion.

He was always a little jealous when Aziraphale spent time with them.

“Your mom’s in the car, angel. It’s time to go.”

The girls giggled. Not a one of them cared that Anthony seemed to hate them. They all thought he was adorable and that his nickname for Aziraphale was precious. This only made Anthony glare at them harder.

“Oh, of course. Just give me a moment.” He smiled at the girls. Ridiculous as they were, he always appreciated their inclusion of him. “I suppose I’ll be seeing you all on Monday then, when school gets started.”

“And we’ll be high schoolers!” Rachel said, far louder than was strictly necessary. This led to a fresh chorus of excited squeals that followed them straight out the door.

* * *

Tony entered the Clarks’ house and had nearly made it across the living room when Elijah stuck his head out of the kitchen.

“Oh, hey! Give me a hand and take these out to your mom, okay?” He smiled, holding out a basket full of paper napkins and plastic utensils.

Tony stayed where he was. “I wanted to go talk to Ezra before all the old people showed up.”

Elijah’s face grew stern. “That is not a kind way to talk about our guests. I hope I don’t hear that kind of language when they arrive. Now come on, you can go talk with Ezra after you help out.”

With a dramatic sigh, Tony dragged his feet across the floor, taking the basket as though it held the weight of the world. “They were all here for church this morning, how come they’re coming back for dinner?”

“It’s not everyone; it’s just a few of the older members of our congregation. Mostly the same people who visit us for Thanksgiving.” Elijah plucked a couple bowls of chips from the kitchen counter and followed Tony out. “I figured since our families are going to be getting busy again, what with school starting up for you and Ezra and with Edith starting with those classes she signed up for, one last cookout for the summer would be a nice idea. And, if we’re going to do it, we should invite some people over to share it with.”

The Clark family lived in the church’s manse, meaning there was no real distinction between church property and their front lawn. Whatever the stretch of grass was properly called, it was presently home to a number of card tables all pulled from church storage. Maddy and Edith had lined them up and were busy covering them with multicolored paper tablecloths left over from previous celebrations.

“It’s looking really great!” Elijah told them, placing the bowls he was carrying at even intervals along the table. “Do you need help getting the chairs out from the church?”

“Ezra already did it before he went upstairs to pick out his clothes for tomorrow,” Edith said. “Oh, and by the way, are the hamburgers ready to go on the grill once everyone’s arrived?”

“All mixed and shaped into patties.” Elijah glanced up at the upper floor of his house, toward Ezra’s bedroom window. “Is he really just up there picking out clothes?”

“It’s his first day of high school; he’s got to look his best.”

Tony handed off his basket to his mother and huffed at Elijah, “Right, so can I go now?”

“Drop the sass, kiddo, you’re not the one starting high school tomorrow. I’m not ready for that kind of attitude until at least seventh grade,” Maddy said, “Ask him again nicely.”

“Mr. Clark may I pleeeease go upstairs and see Ezra now?” Tony asked flatly.

“Of course. Just make sure you’re _both_ down in ten minutes. The guests will start arriving then.”

“Okaythanksbye.” Tony sprinted away from the adults, into the house, up the stairs, and straight into Ezra’s room.

The older boy, who had been fussing around with the contents of his dresser drawer, paused to purse his lips at Tony. “The rest of the civilized world knocks before they enter.”

“It’s just us.” Tony peered over at the bed and saw three outfits laid out already, “You gonna choose one of those?”

Ezra sighed, “I’m not certain. I like the one with the sleeveless jumper but I’m afraid it will be far too hot this time of year. The short sleeved button down with the bowtie is lovely, but I’m not sure I want to set myself up for the possible social situations that one might incur. Then there’s the polo shirt, which isn’t exactly my style, but Edith purchased it for me and I’m certain she’d be happy if I chose it.”

Tony studied the clothing closely, trying to imagine why Ezra liked these kinds of clothes. Tony only wore khakis once a week and the moment church was over he’d rush up to the apartment to change into literally anything else. Still, Ezra wouldn’t have quite been himself if he’d dressed some other way.

“Well, if you don’t think your classmates can handle your awesome bow tie collection then you should probably where the polo. ‘Sides, it’s the same color as your eyes.”

“Is it?” Ezra held the shirt up before himself in the mirror. “I suppose you’re right. Thank you, Tony. That was quite helpful.”

“ _I_ already picked out what I’m going to wear tomorrow, so I’m pretty good at this.” Tony rubbed his nails against his shirt and then blew on them. He wasn’t sure what that was supposed to do exactly but he’d seen cool guys do it in the movies before.

“Oh, your mother’s not picking your clothes out for you anymore?”

“Nope. I got this sweet pair of black jeans and my new sneakers and a t-shirt with gengar, ghastly, and haunter on it and mom said she’d-”

“A what, a what, and a what on it?”

Tony rolled his eyes. “Gengar, ghastly, and haunter. The ghost Pokémon? Ezra, I’ve told you about it.”

Ezra’s eyes lit up with sudden understanding. “Oh, the little monster creatures in that portable game. The ones you’ve got on the playing cards. The peek at yous.”

“Oh my God, Ezra. My _mom_ gets it better than you do.” This was true. Maddy had joined him on the couch before work on a few Saturdays to watch the show. She asked a lot of annoying questions but at least she’d paid attention to the answers. Ezra’s eyes glazed over whenever Tony brought Pokémon up. “Anyway, even if no one cares at your big teenage school, it’s a really big deal in my grade. And I’m going to look really cool walking in like that on the first day. ‘Cause it’s not even like it’s just a plain old Pokémon shirt. It’s got that ghost type spooky thing that’ll really work for me. And-”

Ezra was looking at him, but his brow was furrowed the way it got when he’d lost the thread of a conversation and couldn’t find his way back.

Tony folded his arms. “Nevermind.”

“Oh no, Tony. I was listening. Truly. You were saying that the shirt was spooky and that you liked that about the shirt.”

There was the sound of a car door slamming shut below. The boys rushed to Ezra’s side window and peered down into the church parking lot. The old people had started to arrive.

Tomorrow couldn’t come fast enough.

* * *

Tony didn’t like the taste of baked beans. They were too sweet for dinner and not sweet enough for dessert and he wasn’t going to eat them. But Edith had scooped some onto his plate anyway. He didn’t mind particularly because one good thing about baked beans was that if you pushed them around your plate with a fork it would leave a trail of juice.

It was no good for eating but pretty good for drawing pictures. Especially when Tony didn’t have anything better to do.

He was slumped in his seat at the end of the frankensteined picnic table where absolutely no one was paying any attention to him. Edith, Elijah, and his mother had evenly distributed themselves along the table, the better to act as proper hosts for all the guests. The Clarks were both quite good at it and were nodding along to whatever stories they were being told. Maddy was less comfortable; Tony knew just by looking at her. She was sitting with her shoulders pulled in like she wanted to be smaller than she was and, although she was nodding, she wasn’t making any eye contact. She was pushing her beans around her plate too.

He wondered why she used to go to parties so much if she didn’t even like _this_. Maybe she’d never known how to like parties when there wasn’t anything harder to drink than Coca-Cola. Or maybe she just didn’t know what to talk about with people so much older than her.

Ezra wasn’t having that problem. He was chatting away with Mrs. Holmes and Mrs. Taylor like it was the easiest thing in the world. Tony wished he wouldn’t. What was the point of sitting next to each other if Ezra was hardly going to talk to him?

Tony drew an angry face in his beans.

“I wish I’d known that film was playing on the television last night. I haven’t seen an Errol Flynn picture in ever so long.”

“So you like old movies on top of old books? I guess that’s not much of a surprise.” Mrs. Holmes looked Ezra over approvingly.

Mrs. Taylor sniffed. “My mother never approved of Errol Flynn. She thought his films were two violent for a little girl.”

“My mother fell in love with him in the 30s and as soon as I was old enough to go to the theater she’d always take me with her!” Mrs. Holmes laughed at her own story, and then turned back to Ezra. “I wouldn’t have pegged you for the swashbuckling type.”

“A friend of mine insisted I go with him to see a few of them. I rather owed him at the time,” Ezra explained.

Tony screwed up his nose in confusion. “In England? When you were like seven?”

“Yes... It was… at a specialty theater. And Errol Flynn was known for adventure films, not exactly out of the expected interests of young boys.” Ezra gave him a stern look but at least he was facing Tony’s direction. He was just about to smile when Ezra noticed his plate and tutted. “Anthony you shouldn’t be playing with your food like that. Finish that up or you’re not going to be allowed to have any of the trifle Mother and I made.”

Tony frowned at him but Ezra didn’t even notice; he’d already turned back to the old ladies.

It wasn’t fair. Tony was already nine-years-old. He might still be a kid but he wasn’t a _little_ kid. Maybe Ezra had grown three inches over the summer and his voice might have gotten all low already, but Tony had grown a little too. It felt like Ezra didn’t notice. He still clucked over Tony like he was a lost child in need of care.

“You must be excited about starting school tomorrow. I still remember high school. I met my James in Mr. Fitzgerald’s first period math class. I decided right then that we’d be married one day, though it took a few years for James to agree with me on that,” Mrs. Holmes laughed to herself.

“Yes, I’m a bit nervous but otherwise quite looking forward to it. With more choice to the classes and level of difficulty I’m hoping I’ll be with more students who want to engage with the material. I’m sure it’ll be quite a change.”

And that was just the problem. Ezra was going to a whole new school, with whole new classes, whole new clubs, and probably whole new friends. By comparison the fourth grade didn’t seem like a big deal at all. Tony would never catch up. Ezra would graduate while Tony was just half way through middle school. He’d be an adult and Tony would only be as old as Ezra was now.

He stared at the sad face he’d drawn on his plate. The baked beans were slowly congealing and Tony understood exactly how they felt. He didn’t want to sit here anymore.

“I don’t really want dessert anyway,” he said, pushing his seat out from the table. Now Ezra was looking at him properly, concern in every line of his face.

“Are you feeling alright?”

“’mfine,” Tony mumbled. “I’m tired is all.”

“When I was a child I had to ask to be excused from the table,” Mrs. Taylor commented, casting an eye in Maddy’s direction. Tony didn’t stay to hear what else she had to say, he rounded the side of the church, heading to the front entrance. He hoped he could get up to the apartment before anybody tried to stop him.

He only got halfway across the Fellowship Hall before his mother came running in. Tony’s shoulder’s fell.

“If you were hoping Ezra would come after you instead, you should know I told him to stay.” She caught up with him and placed a hand on his head. “Can you tell me what’s wrong?”

Tony shrugged. “There’s nothing for me to do at the party. I knew you and Edith and Elijah would be talking to the guests but I thought Ezra would talk to me. Also baked beans are gross.”

“The bean thing I can fix easy. We’ll give you some apple slices instead. Honestly, with all that sauce, the apples would be a major nutritional step up anyway.” Then she gave Tony a funny little smile. “But you can’t be mad at Ezra for being polite with the guests. Now that he’s a teenager his parents are going to expect him to be more responsible and part of that is not hiding away in the corner during get-togethers.”

“I was just sitting in the corner…”

“Right, because you’re only nine and you can still get away with it. If I were nine I would totally be sitting in the corner. James Holmes talks as much as his wife. There can’t possibly be a moment of silence in that house.” She noticed Tony still staring sadly up at her and sighed. “Is this about more than tonight?”

“I dunno. I guess? I don’t like being the littlest one. I feel like Ezra keeps getting older and I don’t.”

She pulled him close, allowing Tony to sniffle in the privacy of her t-shirt. “You’re growing up too, Tony. He’s just at an age where a lot of that happens at once. And, to be honest, that age kind of sucks so I wouldn’t rush too hard to get there. And I know it seems impossibly far away now, but someday the two of you will reach a time when five years-”

“Four years and four months,” Tony’s muffled voice insisted.

“Right. Someday four years and four months won’t really be that big a difference at all. So you won’t technically catch up but you’ll kind of catch up. And when he turns 30 and you’re only 25 you can tease him. And then every ten years after that the same thing. In the long run you’ve actually got the advantage.”

Tony pulled back enough that he could look up at her. “But sometimes I think he sees me as a baby.”

Maddy ran her fingers through his hair which made Tony feel a little calmer even before she spoke again. “He might sometimes, most of the time I don’t think he does. And you know what, maybe going back and not slinking away from the party will show him you can be a little more responsible.”

“But I don’t know what to say when they’re all talking. Ezra knows all this old people stuff and I can’t keep up. I’ll just look like some dumb little kid again.”

Maddy tilted her head to the side then suddenly grinned at him. “I think something responsible and grown up that you can do for the party, that _only_ you could do for the party, would be to put on a little show. Why don’t we go grab your guitar and you can play a few songs for everybody.”

“I’m not the _only_ one who could do that,” Tony argued, although he took her hand and started heading up to the apartment with her.

“Trust me kiddo, you already play that thing better than I can. Edith might still be better at the piano but that’s stuck inside. This is your moment to shine. We just need to think of a set list.”

They worked it out before they made it back down to the party. Maddy had immediately nixed Tony’s first three suggestions of Queen’s _I Want to Break Free_ , Nirvana’s _Smells Like Teen Spirit_ , and Vacant Soul’s _Free to Rock Hard_.

“You gotta know your audience, Tony,” she’d told him.

Then she had suggested a few songs from the 1940s but he’d flatly told her that you couldn’t do Big Band music on the guitar, the piano maybe but not the guitar. Eventually they’d decided on some of the gentler songs that Maddy had learned from her aunt when she was little. He’d do a song or two from the Beatles and Yusuf Islam.

Yusuf Islam wasn’t one of Tony’s favorites but he liked that he’d changed his name. He hadn’t even known you could that until his mother had told him.

When they rounded the corner of the church, everyone turned to look at them and Tony felt suddenly shy. He gripped the guitar tightly and leaned against his mother. “Hey everybody, Tony wants to play a couple songs for all of you.”

Tony wasn’t so certain that he did anymore. All the fond and encouraging smiles made him want to disappear into the grass. It was one thing to be a showoff at school, it was another to do it all in front of adults.

But then Ezra was looking at him too. Smiling and looking at him. If Tony turned away now Ezra would probably shake his head and cluck. Maybe he’d come seek Tony out to tell him it was alright but not in the way you did to friends, in the way you did to little children.

And Tony wasn’t a little kid anymore.

Guitar in hand, Tony hopped up onto the lid of a cooler so that he could better see his entire audience.

“Um, I figured since this was kind of a church thing you guys might like this one.” He’d need to work on his stage patter someday but for now he hoisted the guitar up and began to strum.

_Morning has broken like the first morning_

_Blackbird has spoken like the first bird_

_Praise for the singing_

_Praise for the morning_

_Praise for them springing, fresh from the word._

Tony wasn’t a fan of a lot of the hymns they sang in church. Sure every once in a while you’d find a good one, but too many were flat and droning and kind of boring. He liked this one though, perhaps because he’d learned it from one of his records instead of in Sunday school. He also liked the way the adults were looking for him as he played.

There was a certain expression grown-ups wore when they were praising you for doing something well _for your age_. It was a kind of smile that said ‘isn’t that precious’, but which wasn’t actually impressed. As Tony sang, he watched that expression melt away. They actually thought he was good.

_Sweet the rain’s new fall, sunlit from heaven_

_Like the first dew fall on the first grass_

_Praise for the sweetness of the wet garden_

_Sprung in completeness where His feet pass_

Strangely enough, Ezra was watching him in awe too. It wasn’t surprising that Ezra liked the music. It was just, he shouldn’t have been surprised. He’d heard Tony play plenty of times before. Perhaps it was the choice of song then. He wasn’t used to hearing Tony playing this sort of thing. He watched Tony with an expression of wonder the entire time and, though Tony didn’t understand it, at least he wasn’t looking at him like he was some goofy little kid.

When the first song came to a close the audience applauded and Tony found that any nerves that had been eating away at him were completely gone.

He liked having people applaud for him.

Buoyed by their support he went for a more upbeat number next, playing through the Beatle’s _All Together Now_ , skipping the third verse like his mother had asked him. He wasn’t sure why she didn’t want him singing it but she was a pretty good mom so he’d decided not to push.

The old folks seemed to like that one so he followed it with _Blackbird,_ which always made his mother cry in a way she said she liked. It made some of the old ladies tear up too, so he moved on to _Here Comes the Sun_ to cheer them up a bit.

Tony didn’t want to stop then but Maddy had said he should only play four songs, so he gave a little bow and left them wanting more. As he hopped down from his make shift stage, Mrs. Holmes came over to see him.

“I had no idea you were so talented, Tony. Why is it you never perform in church?”

“I dunno.” Tony shrugged. “I like rock music better than church music, I guess.”

“Well, I’m glad I got to hear you today. Hold out your hand, I’ve got a little something for the entertainment.”

He did so, expecting perhaps one of those little strawberry candies that only retired people knew how to get. Then Marjory Holmes gave him twenty-five bucks.

“Are you serious?”

“As the dead. Good music should be rewarded, although perhaps that is a bit much. I think I’d like to hear one more song to make my money worth it. You can play something at the table for me, if everyone else wants to talk.”

He nodded, still dumb struck, and followed her back over to where he’d been seated during the meal. Ezra beamed at him as he sat down.

“Anthony, that was beautiful. I can’t ever get over how quickly you improve.”

Now that Ezra was giving him a proper compliment Tony didn’t actually know what to do with himself. He turned red and mumbled his thanks.

“Now music wouldn’t be a bad class for a young man to take either. So if those theater courses don’t prove to be the thing for you that’s what you could switch too.” It sounded as though Mrs. Taylor was picking up some conversation that Tony had missed. She kept talking as he fiddled with his guitar strings, trying to decide what his last song should be. “I’m just glad you didn’t go with cooking classes. Those were only for girls back when Marjory and I were still in school and I don’t see why that’s changed. To be honest, even theater seems a bit of an odd choice to me. If I were your parents I would’ve pointed you towards something useful. Do they still offer wood working at your school?”

“I think that was one of the options, yes.” Ezra’s voice was very small and he sat with his eyes downcast, staring at the table as though he could not look her in the eye. He did not look like the big teenager that Tony could never catch up with. He looked like a friend who needed help.

As Mrs. Taylor opened her mouth to speak once more, Tony began his next song.

_Well, if you want to sing out, sing out_

_And if you want to be free, be free_

_‘Cause there’s a million things to be_

_And you know that there are_

_And if you want to live high, live high_

_And if you want to live low, live low_

_‘Cause there’s a million ways to go_

_You know that there are_

_You can do what you want_

_The opportunity’s on_

_And if you can find a new way_

_You can do it today”_

As Tony sang, Ezra looked at him, not like he was a little child, but like he was a friend who’d known exactly what Ezra needed to hear and when he needed to hear it. Perhaps Tony had been worrying about nothing after all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tony's playlist for old people:
> 
> Morning Has Broken (Cat Stevens/Yusuf Islam): https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=e0TInLOJuUM
> 
> All Together Now (The Beatles): https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=73lj5qJbrms
> 
> Blackbird (Also The Beatles): https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Man4Xw8Xypo
> 
> Here Comes the Sun (Still The Beatles): https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=xUNqsfFUwhY
> 
> If You Want to Sing Out, Sing Out (Cat Stevens/Yusuf Islam once more): https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=uznWBjFrF9M


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Specific Tags:  
> (Contains Spoilers. Read or skip according to personal need/preference)
> 
> -One Sided Student/Teacher Crush (Unnoticed by the teacher and will stay that way)
> 
> -Implied Off-page Masturbation (In a 'God, Being a Teenager is Embarrassing and Uncomfortable' kind of way)
> 
> -The Talk (As awkward as I felt writing these notes)

On Monday morning, Aziraphale woke early, stood before the mirror in his bedroom, and sighed heavily. On his desk lay an open letter from Adam Young who, despite being a recent graduate from university, had dedicated much of his summer to the careful study of every American high school film he could find. He had compiled the results of his research and sent them to Aziraphale along with other general advice about growing up. This was odd considering Aziraphale could remember so clearly the night he’d been born (the next night, not so clearly at all).

Still, the letter, along with the regular phone calls from the dance girls, had gotten him rather nervous. The boy in the mirror stared back, looking uncertain in the polo shirt and khaki trousers his mother had bought for him. Everything he had was either too small or new enough that he hadn’t quite grown into it yet.

At least in four years he’d be free of this madness.

There was a knock, “Get up, buddy. You don’t want to be late for-”

Aziraphale opened the door to find Elijah standing there. He seemed surprised to see him already prepared.

Aziraphale couldn’t blame him. The longer the summer went on, the more times he’d found himself waking close to noon. It was not a habit he was proud of. “I awoke early this morning, to get ready for school.”

“Hey, I’m not complaining. That’s fantastic. You’ll actually be able enjoy the ‘first day of school’ breakfast youre mom’s been working on.” Elijah looked Aziraphale over, before reaching out and popping up his collar. “There, that’s how I’ve seen the kids wearing them lately. Westwich High won’t know what hit it.”

As he turned his back to lead the way downstairs, Aziraphale put his collar back into place.

The kitchen smelled lovely that morning as Edith Clark bustled about making plates of eggs and bacon. Although she was more experienced when it came to American pancakes, she’d tried her hand at crepes. When she saw Aziraphale enter the kitchen she hastily filled one.

She handed him the plate while pressing a gentle kiss on his forehead. “Made these special for your big morning. I know how much you like them.”

“Thank you very much.” Edith’s crepes weren’t quite, risk-your-life-in-the-middle-of-a-revolution good, but they hit the spot.

She gave him a melty smile. “I can’t believe you’re already starting high school. If I close my eyes I can still see you waiting outside the airport with that little Winnie the Pooh doll. Now look how big you are!”

The front door of the house opened without so much as a ringing doorbell, which was a sure sign the Drakes had arrived for breakfast. Sure enough, Anthony came rushing into the room, brand new backpack bouncing with every step. He was grinning ear to ear and looking exceedingly pleased with himself. He gestured to his head.

“Mom helped me spike it!” His short hair had been artfully raised up in a style Aziraphale knew was fashionable from Rachel’s magazines. He smiled into his tea. Over the last few years, Anthony had always worn whatever had been given to him, which usually meant blue jeans and brightly colored t-shirts.

Today it was clear he’d made his own decisions- from spiked hair, to black jeans, to red soled sneakers. He looked very on trend and a touch edgy for a fourth grade classroom. He looked very Crowley.

“That’s… fun, Tony,” Elijah said in a voice that implied he was very glad his own son had opted for a polo shirt.

Maddy trailed into the room. “Yeah, we’re not doing that every morning, but it seemed good for the first day. You nervous about high school, Ez?”

“A little,” Aziraphale admitted.

Anthony pulled a chair close to his side and began to nibble on bacon. He always seemed to gravitate as close to Aziraphale as possible. “I could go with you if you wanted.”

“Don’t be silly, Anthony. The fourth grade awaits. And you’ll have to say hello to your teacher for me. She’s the same one I had in fifth grade.”

“Still, if anyone picks on you, tell me so I can beat them up.”

“Tony,” Elijah said in a warning voice. He had reason to be worried. Anthony had gone after a bully when Aziraphale was in sixth grade. “Besides, Ezra’s going to be fine. He visited the school last week and he’s very prepared. And there’s going to be all sorts of clubs and he’s going to make a ton of friends. The next four years will be great.”

Elijah winked at him, as though they had some understanding, but Aziraphale failed to feel any better. He sighed over his breakfast, finding he had very little appetite.

Not that that stopped him from finishing the crepes.

* * *

Westwich High had been less intimidating when there’d been no one there but small tour groups of incoming ninth graders. Now the hallways were packed to the gills, making it significantly harder to get to one’s locker without being knocked for a loop.

And they were all so tall and adult looking, at least in comparison to him. His paltry little growth spurt seemed like nothing when he passed by seventeen-year-old seniors, standing at their full heights, some with poorly groomed facial hair. Even a few of his classmates from last year had left him behind. He passed one boy he _knew_ he’d loomed over last year, and found that he’d grown a whole foot over the summer.

Aziraphale had not felt so small since he’d stood beside Michael after his transformation. He thought back to Adam’s letter and wondered if someone would try to shove him into a locker. If he’d been any less chubby he’d probably fit.

The morning passed in a haze. It began with his homeroom teacher giving out an overwhelming amount of information, followed by syllabi and introductions during Algebra, French, and World History. His fourth period was a study hall, which Aziraphale spent sitting in a state of shock. It wasn’t all too different from middle school, but the teachers weren’t talking to them quite as softly or playing any getting-to-know-you games. He felt as if his head were going to burst.

The next bell sent him packing off for lunch, various passages from Adam’s letter of advice echoing in his mind: _Eating lunch on the first day at an American School is very difficult. The tables are organized based on personality types. Avoid accidently spilling food all over the most popular kid in school. If you can’t find anywhere to eat, you can eat in a toilet stall, but try not to do this if at all possible._

Aziraphale suspected much of the letter was the result of Hollywood tosh and the anxious mind of a young man so talented that he was overwhelmed by his own postgraduate opportunities. Still, Aziraphale entered the school cafeteria feeling wary.

The room was utter chaos. Students milled about, shouting to friends and slamming bags into seats to mark their places at large round tables. They gathered at the hot-lunch counters, laughing and shoving and chatting as they formed into lines so long that they wound their ways between the tables. Aziraphale swallowed heavily, clutching close the tartan lunchbox that contained Edith’s lovingly home-made meal.

He felt very small and out of place and lost.

Then he saw Keisha waving at him through the crowd and he was put to mind of the Lord’s first rainbow declaring hope after long destruction. Aziraphale made his way to her, wending through crowds of adolescents who did not seem to notice him.

When he at last came in close, Keisha moved her books over, making space for him at the table.

“Sit with us, Ezra. We’ve got an extra seat.”

He did as requested, collapsing onto one of the plastic stools attached to the table. It was, perhaps, the most uncomfortable seat he’d ever taken, but he was grateful for it.

“Thank God we have this period together. I don’t know what I would’ve done.” He looked around at the other girls gathered at the table. They were all exceedingly pretty and very fit. Aziraphale felt a bit like a pimple on an otherwise beautiful face. “I hope I’m not intruding.”

“It’s fine. You’re Ezra, right? Keisha told us about you when we had our first squad get together to meet all the Freshman. Your accent is just as cute as she said.” This from a tall blonde girl with artfully applied makeup. She said ‘cute’ with a tone that implied ‘puppy’ instead of ‘handsome young man’. Aziraphale felt very small again.

“Is this the cheer leading team, then?”

The girl nodded. “I mean, there’s more of us in other lunch waves, but yeah. Don’t look so scared. You’re Keisha’s friend; you can stay.”

Aziraphale must have gone very pale. He was thinking of Adam’s letter and coming to the conclusion that he was well out of his depth. Based on his understanding, this was something akin to a serf dining at the king’s feast.

He fumbled with the latches on his lunchbox, feeling as though everyone around must be staring at him, though he soon found this was not the case. After quick introductions, the upper classmen became involved in their own conversations, leaving Keisha and Aziraphale to talk easily, just the two of them.

“High school is amazing, isn’t it?” She said excitedly. “The senior boys are so cute.”

This time cute definitely meant ‘handsome’ as she pointed to a pair of athletic lads guffawing at a nearby table. Aziraphale gave them each a disproving once over. As mature and tall as they looked by comparison to him, his 6,000-year-old mind saw two boys, both too fresh faced and unsophisticated for his taste.

Keisha was not done talking. She bubbled on about her morning before demanding that he take out his schedule so that she could compare it to hers. “Oh, we have the same history teacher, but I don’t have that class until 8th period. Did you like her?”

“She seemed alright. It’s all been going over the rules so far today, though. I don’t feel like I’ve gotten a very good sense of what any of them will be like as teachers.”

“Fair. Ooh, you’ve got Mr. Velasquez for English. I had him this morning. He was dorky, but like, in kind of a fun way.” She looked at Aziraphale and laughed, “Actually, I bet he’s your favorite teacher.”

“I do hope so. I signed up for Drama for my elective course and he’s teaching that too. I have him twice in the afternoons. If I don’t like him very much, I’m in for a rough go of it.”

Keisha shook her head, “You shouldn’t worry at all. Trust me. You guys are like totally on the same wave length.”

“In that I’m also dorky but in a kind of a fun way?”

She giggled into her sandwich, then nodded. “Exactly. Totally simpatico.”

It wouldn’t be long until Aziraphale was able to see how accurate her prediction was; he had English next. He entered the classroom hesitantly, books tight against his chest, as though they might keep him safe from uncomfortable social situations.

At the front of the room a slender young man, likely in his early thirties, leaned against the teacher’s desk, gesticulating widely as he spoke with a few students who’d already arrived. He smiled and waved at Aziraphale and the other students who were coming in.

It was a warm smile, welcoming. His teeth bright and dazzling against faun colored skin. Aziraphale plopped down at a desk near the front of the classroom, nearly missing the chair and tumbling onto the floor. He glanced around to see if anyone had noticed. Apparently he was safe.

The bell rang shortly afterward, sending students scrambling for their seats.

Aziraphale leaned forward expectantly, resting his chin on his hands, as the teacher began to speak.

“Welcome, everybody, to 9th grade Honors English. My name is Mr. Velasquez, but almost all my students call me Mr. V. I’m guessing most of your classes have been just a huge list of rules and syllabi and your brains are probably about to just leak out of yours ears. So, we’re going to save all of my boring ranting for tomorrow when you’re actually ready to hear it. Instead what we’re going to do, after I take attendance and collect your summer reading essays, is talk about books. ‘Cause I like to talk about books and I hope by the end of the year all of you also like talking about books.

“For now, I want you to think about your favorite book and the book you most hated. I’ve found that coming from middle school a lot of kids have been told that they should like all the books, which is ridiculous. It is perfectly okay to hate a book in this classroom. The deal is, you’ve got to be able to explain to me _why_ you hate a book. I’m not going to tell you which one, but one of the books I’m going to teach you this year, I hate with a burning passion and have since _I_ had to read it in ninth grade. Maybe you’ll love it, maybe you’ll hate one of the books I love, but that’s all okay as long as we can back up why we feel that way. Now if you can all get out those summer reading essays on _Animal Farm,_ I’ll collect those as I call your names for attendance.”

Although he had kept ‘Fell’ rather than ‘Clark’, Aziraphale’s surname still appeared relatively early on the list. When Mr. Velasquez took his assignment, his eyebrows went up, and he grinned. “You wrote a lot, Ezra. I look forward to reading it.”

Aziraphale noted that he had dimples.

He spent the rest of the attendance list watching his teacher make his way around the room, finding some way to make a connection with each student. He had a charming way about him and a nicely trimmed goatee. His dark curly hair was just long enough to be pulled back in a ponytail and his brown eyes sparkled when he was amused. His necktie, which kept getting caught in the growing pile of papers, was decorated with quills and some kind of text. When he came to speak to the surly looking girl, who’d been forced to take the last empty next to Aziraphale, he noticed that the tie listed every one of Shakespeare’s plays.

The papers finally collected, Mr. Velasquez returned to the front of the room and asked if anyone wanted to share their favorite book. Aziraphale suddenly found himself too bashful to say a word. Not that that stopped him from admiring the way his teacher’s eyes lit up as he bantered back and forth with Jeanine Romano about _Holes_ , how he ran his fingers through his hair as he guiltily admitted to Roger O’Toole that he’d only read a few of the _Chronicles of Narnia_ books, or how he smiled so kindly at Violet Tanaka that she finally revealed that she didn’t totally hate reading and had actually enjoyed the copy of _Interview with a Vampire_ that she’d stolen from her big sister’s room.

Then Mr. Velasquez turned to Aziraphale, who knew he was turning bright red and couldn’t seem to stop it. He was overcome by a strong desire to hide behind his binder or melt into the floor. “So Ezra, what’s your favorite book?”

Aziraphale could have listened to that baritone list phone numbers. He looked at his fingers. “I couldn’t think of one.”

“There aren’t any books you like? You sure had a lot to say in your essay. Should I expect a bit of a screed?”

“Oh no!” Aziraphale looked up in horror. “I think Orwell is just brilliant, although _1984_ is a bit more nuanced. What I meant before is that I just couldn’t narrow it down. There’s so many books that have brought me comfort or made me question beliefs or brought me to tears with their beauty. It depends on what I’m in the mood for or what’s going on in my life. To say that just one, in this moment, is a particular favorite or, conversely, that I find one especially vile, I don’t think I could do that.”

Aziraphale had brought the dimples to Mr. Velasquez’s face.

He nodded. “If you’re going to avoid answering the question as asked, that is the way to do it. Nicely said Ezra.”

If Aziraphale had still had a halo it would have glowed.

The bell rang far too soon after that and Aziraphale was forced to trundle off to his biology class. He didn’t hear a thing this teacher had to say. His mind was too full of glittering teeth, literary themed ties, and raven dark curls. It would be nice, he imagined, to run his fingers through that hair and-

What on earth was he thinking about?

Flushed with embarrassment, he gripped his desk and hoped none of his classmates were staring at him. He needed to get a hold of himself. The middle of school was no time to be fantasizing, particularly not about some poor man who was just trying to do his job and whom Aziraphale had known for less than an hour.

Folding his hands tightly, Aziraphale forced himself to focus on the elderly science teacher droning on at the front of his biology classroom. With every ounce of mental energy trained on each word about the grading breakdown for this class, there was no space for unwanted thoughts.

He kept admirable control of himself until the bell rang. Then it was off to the school’s art wing, to a small classroom near the auditorium where he had Introduction to Drama.

With Mr. Velasquez.

With great trepidation, he pushed open the door. There was Mr. Velasquez again, still animated and talkative, still bright eyed, still devastatingly handsome. The students he was speaking to just now were about as tall as he was and Aziraphale remembered, with sudden horror, that this was a mix level course. He was in with upperclassmen.

That meant he was the shortest in the room again. The only other freshmen were a pair of girls, likely at their full heights already, wearing matching _Rent_ shirts and giggling nervously in the corner. Aziraphale slumped into a seat along the back wall of the classroom feeling small, doughy, and unattractive. There was no way Mr. Velasquez would ever so much as look at a dumpling like him which-

Which was good because that would have made the man a predator.

 _Dear God_ , thought Aziraphale, _where is my head today?_

The bell rang then, sending the freshmen and sophomores scurrying to their seats. The juniors and seniors settled more comfortably, though they all seemed to lean forward with the same keen interest.

“Alright everybody, you’ve found your way to Intro to Drama. This class is always one of the most interesting for me because I probably get the biggest cross section of ages and experience and interest that I could. I’m sure there are those among you who’ve always been curious about acting and finally decided to give it a try.”

Aziraphale wiggled happily in his seat, feeling seen.

“Some of you, I know for certain,” Mr. Velasquez began, smiling at the seniors from before, “Have been involved in our plays and musicals every year that they’ve been at this school and now that they have an extra slot in their schedule have finally deigned to join me here.”

“Don’t be like that Mr. V, you know I take chorus,” a senior girl shouted out.

“I know. I’m just teasing. Besides, Mrs. Schneider would never have been my music director again if I had stolen you.” There were the dimples again. Aziraphale sighed. “Lastly, there’s usually a fair number of kids who saw that there was an art requirement for graduation and thought they might be able to avoid doing anything here. Sorry to those of you in that boat; you’re going to be sorely disappointed.”

Unlike in English, Mr. Velasquez did take time to go over the rules, emphasizing repeatedly that if you refused to try anything it was, in fact, possible to fail the class. Aziraphale rather got the feeling he was trying to chase out any students who’d been hoping for an easy way to fill a requirement, before it was too late for them to drop the course.

After that he divided them up into pairs and had them ask a few questions and introduce one another to the class. Aziraphale found it difficult to pay attention to the fifteen-year-old girl prattling on about her favorite movie when just over her shoulder Mr. Velasquez was existing.

Then he would catch himself staring, give himself a fierce reprimand, and redirect himself to the task at hand. When it came his time to present he stumbled, blushing, through her introduction. He could only imagine what a disaster he would be when the time came to do his first monologue.

When the final bell rang announcing the end of the school day, Aziraphale was at once disappointed and relieved. Though he considered bolting for the door, it became abruptly crowded with the crush of other escaping students. Feeling very small once again, Aziraphale held back, waiting for them to clear.

Mr. Velasquez noticed and smiled at him.

“The first day of high school can be pretty overwhelming, huh?” Aziraphale nodded. “Don’t worry, you’ll be as overconfident as the rest of these knuckleheads before long.”

There was a shout from one of the seniors just outside the door, “You’re so cruel, Mr. V.”

The teacher shook his head fondly, “By the way, I have seventh period off and I got a chance to look at your summer essay. That’s some really impressive analytical writing. I’m going to have to find ways to push you this year.”

Aziraphale could feel his face turning red. He tried not to think about getting pushed.

“Oh… I… uh… I’m glad you liked it. I’ve always been quite partial to books.”

“A man after my own heart.” Mr. Velasquez was putting a pile of papers away into a leather bag, now only half-paying attention. Still, Aziraphale flushed redder. “Oh, and FYI you don’t need to bring your books or binders or anything to this class. If we’re ever doing anything where you need them, I’ll give you guys a heads up the day before.”

“Thank you.” Aziraphale managed not to stutter. “I’ll be getting on now.”

Mr. Velasquez waved before turning back to his bag once more. Aziraphale turned, half-way out the door, and caught sight of him pulling out his hair tie. He put it between his lips and then ran his fingers through dark, silky, curls.

Aziraphale turned bright red and fled into the hallway.

* * *

Staring at his bed room ceiling, Aziraphale tried to reason with himself that, taken all together, things could be far worse. This was normal, perfectly, understandable and normal. Mortifying, miserable, tortuous and normal. He’d known this was coming. He’d observed enough human adolescents over the years to see them falling over themselves like the disastrous little messes they were. Even if he hadn’t known anything before hand, he’d attended his 8th Grade health class the previous year. He’d gone to the boys-only assembly with the video that included rather vivid animated diagrams. He’d been warned that most teenagers were more preoccupied with, and less in control of, such thoughts than they would be at any other time in their lives.

Still, he’d hoped that something in his angelic nature would spare him. Alas, no luck.

But it could be worse, it could be far, far worse. There was safety in the impossibility of his current infatuation. Wild as his mind may wander, there was no real temptation to _do_ anything about it. After all, if Mr. Velasquez has shown any sort of reciprocation, Aziraphale would have been so horrified that any precocious attraction would have gone straight out the window. So he was safe here, just looking, just imagining.

It was certainly preferable to finding himself attracted to one of his classmates. They _were_ only children.

And he’d find his way through this. It wasn’t as though he’d never explored himself before. He just needed to get his hands on the right type of reading material, then he could foist his attraction off onto men who only existed in books.

That’s what he’d done before when ignoring certain other infatuations.

The door knob jiggled and Aziraphale vaulted out of bed with sudden embarrassment. But no, he’d remembered to lock the door and, besides, he’d zipped himself up before having the existential crisis.

An aggravated little voice called from the hallway, “Ezra, how come the door’s locked?”

“I uh, Anthony can you go downstairs? I’ll join you in a minute. I promise.” There was evidence to be disposed of and he needed to wash his hands.

“Fine, but you’re being weird.”

In that moment Aziraphale felt a deep and spiritual connection to every television teenager with an annoying little neighbor.

* * *

The Drakes stayed over for dinner that night and all three adults had spent the first half-hour peppering them with questions about all their new teachers and classmates. Aziraphale had been happy to let Anthony do as much talking as possible as he regaled those assembled with tales from the fourth grade. It meant Aziraphale’s own answers could be a bit shorter, more perfunctory.

His willingness to let the child prattle on ended when the conversation shifted. “So I was real excited to tell Ezra about everything, especially since, now that he’s in high school he gets out a whole hour earlier than me. I figured he’d be waiting for me to get home, but he had his stupid door locked and he wouldn’t let me in.”

“ _Anthony,_ ” Aziraphale hissed.

“I’m just saying it was weird,” Anthony grumbled, although his tone implied a bit of hurt as well. “You never used to lock it.”

The adults at the table had all turned pink and were pointedly staring off in strange directions. Aziraphale’s face burned. They had all clearly guessed _exactly_ what was going on. Only Anthony, picking moodily at his macaroni and cheese, was innocent to the truth of the matter.

If there were any hell fire available in that moment Aziraphale would have strolled right in.

Edith spoke, her voice unnaturally high, “So, uh, Ez were there any fun clubs you heard about at school? Anything you’re thinking of getting involved in?”

Aziraphale’s face found an even darker shade of red. “I was thinking about theater, actually…”

* * *

It had, if Aziraphale were being honest with himself, not been his worst day on earth. It had not even been his worst day as a human. That award would have to go to one of the times he’d been forced to leave Anthony in the peril of his father’s care.

Still, the day might well have been his most _mortifying_ in six millennia. How did humans go through all this and go on to be functioning members of society? He’d once read that human mothers experienced a sort of chemical reaction after childbirth to make them forget how painful it truly it was, the better that they might go on to continue propagating the species. Perhaps that was true of adolescence as well. Or maybe not. Maybe they were all just traumatized.

There was a knock on the door and Aziraphale sat up primly in his desk chair. “Come in?”

The door opened by inches, allowing Elijah to pop his head in and give a half-faced smile before entering the room entirely. “Hey there, bud. You got homework on the first day?”

“Not exactly. I wanted to go over some of the syllabi I received, see what I might expect throughout the year. That sort of thing.” Aziraphale had hoped Elijah would leave, but instead he came and sat down on the bed. He wiped his palms on the knees of his trousers and studied the corners of the room as though he’d never seen them before. Aziraphale quirked an eyebrow. “Did you need something?”

Elijah patted the bed spread, encouraging Aziraphale to come sit beside him. Cautiously, he did.

“Listen, bud. This is something I probably should’ve done over the summer, maybe even earlier than that, but I kept convincing myself you were still just kid. It’s time we had an important conversation.”

He paused as though expecting a response. Aziraphale just eyed him warily until he continued.

“So, I know we’ve talked a little before about getting taller and your voice changing and your mom and I trusting you to take on more responsibility, but you’re getting into the thick of it now. You started high school today. You’re in there with all sorts of older kids and you’re going to be fourteen soon. And this is a time in your life where there’s going to be a lot of new urges to deal with.”

Aziraphale could feel the blood drain from his face. “I… er… that is… I think… I think I know where this is going. And it’s quite, quite unnecessary, I assure you. I mean, you signed that permission form last year so that I could attend that assembly. I got all the details and, you know me, I always pay close attention in class. So we really don’t need the recap. The birds, the bees, all thoroughly understood.”

Elijah chuckled. “I know this is uncomfortable. I’m uncomfortable too. And trust me, I believe you when you say you’ve got the scientific aspects of everything down. I’m not worried about that. But there’s more to it. There’s things I’m sure they didn’t cover at school, aspects of our faith that they wouldn’t be allowed to cover. Like, I want to assure you that it’s perfectly normal to look at girl and feel… aroused sometimes.”

There had been a man in the cell across from Aziraphale’s at the bastille who’d been tortured with thumbscrews. Aziraphale envied him now.

Elijah barreled on. “And, when you feel that you might be tempted to act on it, there are acceptable ways to, uh, handle those feelings and ways that aren’t. Um, I know there are some Christian denominations that are anti…”

There was a long pause in which Aziraphale attempted to will himself out of his corporation so that he could go somewhere else for the duration. Eventually Elijah found the courage to say his next word.

“Anti-masturbation but _our_ church has never given a particularly clear reading on that. Personally I think that, done in moderation, it can be a good way for a young man to hold off until marriage. And that is something that I think is quite important. S… Sex should be something done within the bounds of holy matrimony. It’s a way that God has given us to connect deeply with the one person that we’ve decided to dedicate our lives to. And I know that waiting can seem very difficult to a boy of your age but it’s important. And you’ve got to trust that one day the right girl will come along and then that connection between the two of you will be all the more special for waiting.”

Aziraphale, who’d been staring at the spine of his copy of _Gulliver’s Travels_ and wishing he were anywhere else, cast a sidelong glance at Elijah.

He’d had suspicions as to Elijah’s views of homosexuality, mostly formed from the man’s discomfort with Aziraphale’s interest in hobbies he viewed as too feminine. There had never been, however, any solid proof as to the matter. Aziraphale had never wanted to seek any out. He had not wanted his disappointment confirmed.

In most ways Elijah was a good man. He was kind, loving, charitable. Though they were not alike, Aziraphale had grown fond of him and so had avoided asking questions that might reveal some hateful defect. He did not want to turn over the stone to reveal the worms underneath, did not want run the diagnostics in case there might be some cancerous tumor on his character.

But this conversation, this abstinence-only, wait-until-marriage version of the sex talk, given by a man who performed weddings in a church that would not allow couples of the same sex, was proof enough. The version of the world Elijah had created for himself, the one he was trying to impart to Aziraphale, was utterly devoid of any love that did not look like his own.

“So, buddy, you got any questions?”

Had he been braver, or perhaps more reckless, Aziraphale would have put the pastor on the spot. He would have asked him point blank where he stood on the concept of homosexuality. He would have revealed exactly what sort of fantasies had prompted the current conversation.

But Aziraphale was cautious by nature and there were too many possible outcomes. Perhaps the man’s affection for him would overcome his bigotry or perhaps Aziraphale would find himself out on the streets. It was too big a risk for now. If Aziraphale was going to guarantee that he stayed close to Anthony, secrets would have to be kept.

So he shook his head and simply said, “I’d rather this conversation be over, to be honest.”

Then Elijah laughed, affectionately ruffled his hair, and said good night. He left Aziraphale alone at last.

And perhaps Elijah had done something good for Aziraphale after all. He’d spent the day feeling entirely too human, entirely too adolescent, but if he’d truly been a boy of thirteen coming to the realization that his father might never accept him, he would have felt quite different.

He would have felt an all-consuming sense of loss and loneliness. But Aziraphale was an angel of the lord, ancient as the earth and older, so he only felt those things a little bit.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You've survived Cringe Fest 2000, the chapter that gave me second hand embarrassment just by writing it. I've been worried about posting it ever since.
> 
> Also, while I don't normally imagine specific actors when making up characters, Mr. Velasquez definitely has strong Lin Manuel Miranda vibes.
> 
> (Unrelated: What job do you think Adam would want as an adult?)


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter specific Tags:
> 
> Aziraphale's still got an age inappropriate unrequited crush (although he's working on it)

September 2000

Tony’s mother worked on Saturdays. The weekend was when _Rossini’s Garden Center_ did the most business and she’d been asked to pick one of the days to work. If it had been Tony, he would have chosen Sunday so that he could get out of going to church. Maddy had chosen Saturday instead.

On most weekends, Tony would simply spend the day with the Clarks, but Ezra had been asked out to lunch by his stupid dance class friends today so Tony had gone with his mother instead. He kind of liked the garden center. It was huge and sprawling, a jungle of potted trees and hanging plants, all tagged and marked and artfully arranged. If he was careful not to knock into anything, Mr. Rossini would let him play on the lot. It was a good place for imagining you were Indiana Jones, particularly if you pretended the part with all the statues was a lost temple.

That particular weekend the center was crowded with shoppers eager to take advantage of the end of summer sales. It made it harder for Tony to mess around and he couldn’t hold his mother’s attention much either. Sometimes she’d let him help out, when she was just watering or trimming or carrying things from place to place, but today she kept being called over by customers who wanted gardening advice. This left Tony with nothing to do but hunker down by the display koi pond and squint at the screen of his Gameboy Color.

It was hard to catch Pokémon in direct sunlight. 

He was relieved the next time he saw his mother back at physical labor, so that he could talk to her again, “Watcha doin’?”

“Repotting these. They’ve gotten too big for their current homes and they need new ones.” Tony liked the earthy smell that followed his mother home from work every day. He leaned on the worktable and watched as she dug up each plant, careful of its roots. “You’re extra bored today, huh?”

“Yeah. I wish Ezra had just stayed home. He sees those girls every day at school. He doesn’t need to see them on the weekend.”

“By that logic, Tony, he sees you every day _after_ school. Besides, I don’t think he’s got many classes with them and he’s not taking dance anymore. Friendships can take a little work if you want to keep them going.”

Tony looked up at her with horror. “You can just stop being friends with people?”

She smiled and booped his nose, leaving behind a little smudge of dirt. “You don’t need to worry, kiddo. Yes, friendships can go away. I don’t see any of the people I grew up with anymore. But they went away because we both stopped putting in the effort to keep things going. You and Ezra take good care of each other. You can share him a little without worrying the whole thing will disappear.”

But Tony didn’t want to share. Ezra was _his_ best friend and if Tony had his way it would just be the two of them all the time. There wouldn’t be any locked doors or teenage lunches or cool English teachers to talk about. Just Ezra and Tony.

He sighed and flopped on the table.

“Tony, why don’t we go out tonight? You’ve still got that money Mrs. Holmes gave you, right? Let’s go to the mall after I clean up from work. We can grab dinner there.” He looked up at her and shrugged. Maddy raised both eyebrows, “You can invite Ezra. He can sleep over too, if he wants.”

Suddenly the rest of the afternoon seemed bearable.

* * *

Maddy had made him wash up and change into something less covered in potting soil when they first got home but, the moment Tony slipped back into his sneakers, he was racing out of the church and over towards the Clark house.

He didn’t knock on the front door; Tony never did. Instead, he swung it wide open and marched excitedly into the living room. The mood within immediately dampened his spirits.

“It’s a library book, from the _school_ library, how could you possibly object to it?” Ezra did not usually use that tone and when he did it certainly wasn’t with Edith. Yet that was what was happening now. Ezra sat, some book clutched to his chest, while Edith leaned over him hand out stretched.

“I don’t think that book is appropriate reading for a thirteen-year-old boy. Maybe your school disagrees with me or maybe some of the seniors are eighteen and old enough to make their own decisions. You, _however,_ are not. You don’t know what’s in that book and I don’t think you’re ready to know. So hand it over.”

“Even if you don’t want me reading it, I still need to return it.”

“Ez, you can’t sit in front of cereal box without reading the label. Even if you wanted to I don’t think you could resist a book sitting in your backpack all weekend. When I drop you off on Monday, I’ll go in to return it myself.”

“Oh, that will make a wonderful impression. Father goes on about how I’m growing up and _you_ won’t let me put a book through a slot by myself. This is ridiculous.”

“Ezra, one more word and you will be spending the rest of the night alone in your room.”

Ezra opened his mouth, clearly willing to accept what he did not consider a punishment, but he caught sight of Tony shaking his head on the other side of the room and shut it. He even handed over the book.

“Thank you.” Edith turned around with a heavy sigh, doing a double take when she saw Tony. “Sorry, honey, I didn’t realize you were there. I wish you didn’t have to have seen that. Luckily, Ezra stopped before he got in trouble so he’s free to hang out now if you’d like.”

“Let’s go upstairs,” Ezra suggested. When Tony got closer he whispered in a dark voice, “At least there we’ll have some semblance of privacy.”

“What was that all about anyway?”

Ezra shook his head as they passed by his parents’ bedroom. The door was open and Elijah was inside working on their computer. He gave Ezra a look, implying he should have known better than to argue with his mother. When they were finally in Ezra’s room with the door shut, he turned to Tony.

“I had taken a book out of the school library and _apparently_ my mother and father deemed it inappropriate. Which is absurd because they don’t use that standard for anything written before 1900, as my book shelf might attest.”

“What was the book?”

“It’s called _Interview with the Vampire_. It’s a well-known novel. There was a film starring, well starring famous people and everything. I didn’t think they’d object.” He sat down on his mattress with a huff.

Tony hopped up beside him. “Your mom doesn’t care about that stuff. She let me be Satan for Halloween when I was six!”

Ezra stared at the wall meaningfully. “I don’t think it was the vampires that worried her. I think it was the subtext.”

Tony did not know what a subtext was but it sounded interesting. “You shoulda kept it a secret, huh?”

“I would’ve if I’d realized the reaction it would get. I didn’t think _subtext_ was a problem.”

“Well, you know now. Next time you get a cool book you just gotta sneak it in and only read it in here.”

Ezra looked at him, lips a thin line. “And how do you suggest I do that?”

Tony grinned, “Mom said she’d take me to the mall tonight so we could go shopping and have dinner at the food court and everything. She said you could come too, if you wanted.”

“I don’t much see how that helps my present situation, although at least I’ll get to experience the true height of cuisine.”

“Shut up, angel,” Tony said, causing Ezra to laugh. “Anyway, they’ve got that bookstore there and you wouldn’t have to go shopping with your mom breathing over your shoulder about what books you’re buying. _My_ mom won’t stop you. You buy one ‘good’ book to show your parents what you bought and leave the rest at my house. Then you pack an overnight bag, come and sleep over, and smuggle everything back in that bag in the morning. Your parents won’t have a clue.”

Ezra stared, eyes agog, blinking as though he had to actively remember to do so. He glanced, nervously at the closed door before enveloping Tony in a hug, “You are a cunning, wicked, little thing, and far more brilliant than I ever give you credit for.”

Tony practically glowed.

* * *

There was no greater sign of growing up than being allowed to walk around the mall without an adult. This was the peak of responsibility, the very height of freedom. Sure, his mother had probably only said he could because Ezra was already in high school, but still, Tony gloried in it.

They had left Maddy to do her own shopping in the J.C. Penney by the mall entrance and struck out on their own. The only directive: meet in the food court at 6:45 P.M. Now they wandered under the brilliant glow of harsh fluorescent lights, awash in the melodious cacophony of beeping prize machines, hocking vendors, chattering teenagers, and the drowned out tones of _Blink 182_ piped through the sound system.

Ezra was less enthused, but even he would raise his chin for a nice long sniff when they passed one of the many competing pretzel stalls. Still, he was clearly relieved as they approached the welcoming entrance of Walden Books.

“It’s a paltry excuse for a proper book store but a man does not turn up his nose at a puddle in the desert. This will do for now,” Ezra said as he glanced around at the shelves. “Do you, er, mind if we browse separately?”

Tony did, actually. The whole point of going to the mall together was to be _together_ , but he didn’t want to disappoint Ezra, so he nodded. The older boy smiled at him so warmly that Tony would have agreed to any request he made. Then he wandered off among the shelves, leaving Tony to his own devices.

Too cool to head straight for the children’s section, he instead made his way toward the only shelf labeled ‘music’. He’d been hoping there’d be actual books of sheet music. The ones Edith and his mother found for him always only had the notes for whichever instrument he was practicing on. It was more fun to see everything laid out for every instrument at once. Tony liked the challenge of trying to hear it all in his head at the same time.

But there wasn’t any sheet music here, just biographies written for people much older than him. Defeated he retreated to children’s books.

There wasn’t much of interest here that he couldn’t find just by going to Ezra’s room. He’d already had all the classics read aloud to him, already had his own little collection of horror stories on the tiny shelf that sat beside his record player. He didn’t have all that much money to spend so perhaps it was best to wait. He could probably get Ezra to stand outside the Hot Topic while he bought himself one of those spiky bracelet things instead. Or, he could go into the K.B. Toy Works and grab a few packs of Pokémon Cards to trade under the lunch table with the kids at school.

But he wanted to buy a book. He wanted to walk up to Ezra with a some large tome under his arm, looking just as smart, mature, and educated as anyone in Ezra’s high school. He scanned the shelves again, trying to remember the name of that series everyone kept talking about. The one new enough that Ezra wouldn’t already have a copy.

Then he saw it, a slew of them all sitting in a row. There were already two volumes out so Tony grabbed both, each in hard cover. He knew perfectly well he’d only be able to afford one, but he’d already decided to act like he was disappointed at the cash register. Besides, hard covers made you look smarter.

His prizes tucked under his arm, Tony sauntered off to find his friend. Although the store was relatively small, it was no easy task. Ezra had a way of disappearing among shelves, curling up on the floor so that he could read every possible spine. That was precisely how Tony eventually found him, squatting at the foot of a shelf, ten paperbacks already piled up beside him.

“Jeeze, angel. That’s a lot at once, even for you.”

“Oh, er, hello Anthony. Finished already, are you?” Ezra turned pink and flipped the book on the top of the pile over so that the cover could no longer be seen. His eyes darted nervously to the plaque above the shelf, inadvertently drawing Tony’s gaze in the same direction.

“I thought romance books were for people’s moms.”

“Don’t be so narrow minded. Brilliant and rubbish writing exists within all genres and we shouldn’t close ourselves off because of our own prejudice.” His wise words were undercut by his ever reddening cheeks. “And besides that, there’s nothing wrong with enjoying a little rubbish every now and then.”

Although it felt mean to admit it, Tony had always liked it when Ezra got flustered. “If you’re blocking all the covers like that, it must be more than a ‘little rubbish’.”

“Oh, hush.” Ezra staggered to his feet, tucking his pile of books under his chin. “Let’s hurry up and pay. We’ll have to meet your mother soon enough.” 

* * *

With a strict warning not to talk to strangers, Tony had been left to hold down the food court table while Ezra and his mother went in different directions to purchase food. Now it was only Tony and the bags with nothing to do but wait, and that boredom made it very difficult to ignore his growing curiosity.

There was nothing so tempting in the world as something you were specifically told not to do.

Glancing from one end of the food court to the other, Tony took in the lay of the land. His mother hadn’t quite made it to the counter of the Sbarro. Ezra was still toward the back of the long line at the Panda Express. No one would know if he just took a peek.

Ezra would be mad if he knew Tony had been routing about through his things but he couldn’t really get angry if he saw them by accident. So Tony yawned and stretched, bumping the Walden Books bag and sending it plummeting to the floor. He scrambled after them, just in time to see four books tumble out and skid a little way across the tiles.

It would be wrong to just leave them there. He’d have to pick them up.

Tony lunged for the one that had gone the farthest first and found himself suddenly looking over his shoulder to see if anyone was watching him. There was a man on the cover with a lot of hair and a lot of muscles who didn’t seem to know how the buttons on his shirt were supposed to work. Wrinkling his nose, Tony shoved it back into the bag. The next cover was similar, only this man was wearing a kilt and staring into the eyes of some blond lady who had flung herself against his chest. This was followed by a cowboy who’d somehow managed to remember his chaps and hat and boots while forgetting his shirt entirely. The final book featured a man who’d actually managed to put on an entire suit, but his tie was open and the brim of his hat covered everything but his chiseled chin.

Tony returned the bag to its proper place and then sat staring sheepishly at his hands. He didn’t know what any of it was about, really, but he knew he’d looked at something private. There was something more personal about those books then some silly little secret.

“One slice of plain cheese pizza for a picky little boy.” Tony whirled around, surprised to see his mother had snuck up on him while he sat stewing in his own guilt. She held a tray, heavy with two plates of pizza and an enormous, sweating cup of Pepsi. “We’re sharing one large drink between the two of us because it’s cheaper than two smalls.”

“Ew.”

She gave him a look from beneath half lidded eyes. “I gave birth to you. We can share a beverage.”

He continued to pout and she sighed. “Fine, go grab some napkins and a straw. You can the straw and I’ll sip directly. Does that spare you from enough mom germs?”

Tony nodded, scrambling down from his seat and making his way toward the station in the middle of the room where all the straws, little salt packets, and napkin dispensers were located. When his mission was complete, he looked up to see that Ezra was making his way back to the table with his own dinner in hand. The wave of guilt that overcame Tony as he remembered his snooping, was quickly replaced by confusion when his friend stopped to talk to some strange man.

Frown firmly in place, Tony approached, coming up by Ezra’s side and peering around to glare at the man. Ezra jumped, not quite fumbling his tray.

The man just smiled, “And who’s this? You have a little brother?”

“No, er, this is Anthony. He’s a friend, er, and a, well, a neighbor. But we’re not, we’re not related. I haven’t any siblings actually.” Usually when he talked to adults, Ezra was straightforward and clear, but just now he stammered, blushed, and kept looking anywhere but the man’s face. 

“Well, it’s nice to meet you, Antony. I’m Mr. V. I teach at Ezra’s school. What grade are you in?” He had kind eyes and a gentle way of talking. Tony decided he hated him.

“Only Ezra can call me that.”

“Anthony! Don’t be rude!” Ezra chided. He looked frantically at his teacher. “I’m so sorry; I don’t know what’s gotten into him. He usually goes by Tony but that’s no excuse for his tone.”

Suddenly aware that he’d slipped back into ‘little kid’ territory in Ezra’s estimation, Tony quickly moved to make amends. His tone remained flat. “Sorry. ‘Snice to meet you. I’m in fourth grade.”

“Well, I should probably let you two get to your dinner and get myself back home.” He nodded to both of them, “I’ll see you on Monday, Ezra.”

“I’ll see you,” Ezra responded breathlessly. When the teacher’s back was turned, he glared at Tony before striding toward the table. Tony hurried after him, wishing his legs were longer.

“Who was that who you guys were talking to?” Maddy asked as they both sat down.

“My English and Drama teacher, Mr. Velasquez. I saw him walking out of the Babies’r’Us, just at the edge of the food court. Apparently, he and his wife are expecting. We were having a lovely chat before _someone_ showed up and decided to be a bit of a brat.”

Tony bit his pizza angrily. “I apologized, didn’t I?”

“Hardly. Couldn’t you at least have pretended you were interested? I don’t see why you had to be so rude. He was nothing but kind to you.”

Maddy looked back and forth between them, perhaps weighing whether or not to let them resolve things on their own. Tony sort of wished she’d interrupt. He could feel anger and frustration and guilt bubbling within him. He wanted someone to stop him before he did something he’d regret.

But she decided to let them handle it, leaving Tony to spit out. “He’s just a stupid teacher. What’s the big deal?”

“The ‘big deal’ is he’s my favorite teacher. He’s the head of the club I most want to get involved with and he’s kind and he’s smart and he’s actually able to hold an intelligent conversation about literature and-”

Tony was jealous. He was jealous of this grown up teacher who could talk about grown up books instead of Pokémon cards. And he was jealous too of the life Ezra seemed to be building without him where there was high school and clubs and books Tony didn’t understand. Ezra was going somewhere Tony couldn’t follow, and it made him so frightened and angry that he didn’t know what to do with himself. So he said something he only half understood, but knew would be hurtful.

“I bet you don’t really like him cause he’s smart. You like him cause he’s got long pretty hair like the guys on those books covers.”

He’d expected Ezra to turn red with fury. Instead his face went white and he glanced toward Maddy with what Tony could only call terror. His mouth opened and closed, but he couldn’t seem to find any words. He looked like a drowning man, trying to draw breath and finding only suffocation.

“Ezra, calm down. You don’t need to say anything. It’s fine.” Maddy’s voice was gentle. It was not the same tone she used when she turned to Tony. “I don’t want to hear another word out of you until we’re home. And then, kiddo, we are having a _long_ conversation.”

She meant it too. Through the entire rest of their short and endless dinner, through the uncomfortable car ride home, any time Tony would so much as open his mouth, she’d shoot him a glare so stern he’d clam up immediately. It wasn’t fair. He’d meant to make Ezra angry, not scared, and he wasn’t even entirely sure what was so bad about what he’d said in the first place. He just wanted someone to explain it to him.

When they pulled into their space in the church parking lot, Maddy turned to Ezra. “I know you were planning to sleep over, and you still can if you even want to, but why don’t you go home for an hour or so first? You can have some time to decide whether you want to see Tony anymore tonight and I can have some time to talk to him first.”

Ezra nodded, avoiding her eye. He’d been avoiding her eye since dinner. He clambered out of the car without a word.

“Wait, Ez, you forgot your books.”

He bit his lip before talking, “Could… could I pick those up some other time?”

“Of course. Whatever you need.” She’d only been talking about the books, as far as Tony could tell, but Ezra looked up, expression suddenly relieved.

“Thank you,” he said and disappeared in the direction of the Clarks’ house.

“Can I talk now?” Tony whined.

“No. Not until we’re upstairs and not until you’ve done some listening. Now march.” She stayed behind him all the way into the Fellowship Hall and up to their apartment. Tony could hear her making aggravated little sighs to herself and muttering things like, “Where do I start this?”

Evidently, she was going to start by making him sit at the kitchen table so they could face one another. Tony had seen his mother upset before, but always the kind that involved crying or shaking or begging. He’d never seen her so stern.

“Okay. First of all, I don’t think you fully understood what you said but I do think you fully understood that Ezra would find it upsetting. Am I right about that?”

Tony shrunk in his seat.

“Am I right, Tony?”

He nodded.

“Then you shouldn’t have done it and you knew you shouldn’t have done it. That boy is the best friend you have. He may well be the best friend you ever have. That is not how you treat anyone and it is _definitely_ not how you treat someone who cares about you. When he is ready to talk to you again, you are going to apologize like you never have before. Are we clear about that part?”

Tony nodded again.

“Okay, part two. Why were you trying to hurt him? What was that about?” Her voice hadn’t gotten any softer. It was still steady and firm with an edge of disappointed anger.

“I… I dunno,” Tony choked out.

“Tell me the parts you do know and we’ll figure the whole thing out.”

“I… It’s like we talked about before school, it’s like I can’t catch up, but like worse.” His voice shook and the sound of it frustrated him.

“Worse how?” asked his mother.

“Worse like he’s got a whole new world that he’s part of and I’m not part of it and I don’t understand it and he’s going to leave me.” The shaking gave way to tears. Tony covered his face in his hands and began to sob. He heard the sound of his mother’s chair scooting back from the table then felt her arms wrap tight around him.

Her voice was still firm but it was gentler now. The anger was gone. “Tony, you can’t keep him all to yourself. He’s always had trouble fitting in. If he’s finding places and people that make him feel comfortable and you really care about him, then you’ve got to be happy that he’s found that. You’ve got to be happy when his life is good, even when parts of that life don’t include you. That’s one of the harder things to learn about being a friend but it’s super important. You can’t make him choose.”

He leaned against her, calmed by the feeling of her hand running through his hair. Neither of them spoke again until sobs turned to sniffles. “I’ll try. But I don’t think I’m gonna like it.”

“Sometimes you don’t like it but that doesn’t mean it’s not the right thing to do.” Maddy brushed a strand of hair back from his forehead. “Now, are you ready for part three of this conversation?”

Tony wasn’t certain what part three could possibly be. He blinked at her in confusion as she settled back into the seat across from him. She tapped the table with her finger nails and stared at the ceiling, brow furrowed in deep thought. Whatever she was going to say seemed to be important.

“Okay, so you know that a lot of people start dating or at least being interested in that kind of thing around Ezra’s age, right? That’s not news to you?”

“I know,” Tony assured her. He could not guess where this was going.

“And I’m sure you know that… most commonly when people start dating it’s usually a boy and a girl. That’s what you’ve seen on TV and in movies and stuff, right?”

Tony nodded.

“Cool, so baseline established.” The finger tapping began to speed up. “So, even though that’s what _most_ people do, that doesn’t make it true for everybody. Some boys would rather date other boys and some girls would rather date other girls.”

Tony had never heard of such a thing. He was intrigued. “Why?”

Maddy shrugged, “I’m not… Look Tony, I really wish I’d prepared myself to have this conversation today so I could have looked up how everything works and stuff. As far as I understand, that’s just how it is. That’s just the kind of relationship that some people are drawn to. I’m sure someone has looked at why but I don’t know the answer to that. It just is and that’s fine.”

“Well, how come _I_ never met anybody like that?”

His mother sighed heavily. The finger drumming continued, fiercer than ever. “Well, a lot of people don’t think it’s fine. Like _a lot_ of people. So that makes it kind of hard for people who are gay, that’s a word for when a boy likes another boy, it makes it hard for gay people to be out in the open about it. Some people are, but they generally have to be pretty brave, because it can make things difficult for them. So some people never tell anybody and some people have to wait until they’re in a situation where they feel safe enough to tell people.”

Tony wrinkled his nose. If people had to keep it a secret, it had to be bad. “So, what’s so wrong about it?”

“Nothing!” Maddy said quickly. There was another sigh before she continued, “But it’s different and that makes a lot of people uncomfortable and scared. And a lot of those people are in positions of power so they pass laws that make it hard for people to get married or they tell other people God doesn’t like it.”

Tony became suddenly aware that their apartment was in a church. He whispered, as though that would make it less possible for the Almighty to hear him, “Does God not like it?”

“I dunno what God thinks, Tony. I think it depends on who you ask. Most churches aren’t that supportive of gay people. Some of them are actively against them but most just won’t allow it. Let me put this way... I’ve never discussed this with the Clarks but I wouldn’t be surprised if they weren’t big fans.”

It was hard to imagine the Clarks hating anybody. They were usually so kind and welcoming. But then Tony began to think of all the behaviors Elijah disapproved of. Tony had never understood why he disliked so many of the things Ezra enjoyed. Then Tony began to think about the books Ezra had bought and whatever a subtext was that Edith didn’t like.

Suddenly he thought he understood why this was part three in this particular conversation.

“Is Ezra-” 

“I don’t know,” Maddy said quickly. “And it’s not my place, and it’s not your place, to ask him that. If he is or he isn’t, it’s his decision whether to keep that a secret or not. It’s not our job to play detective or try and figure that out.”

“But-”

“ _His decision,_ Tony. And, if I’m right about his parents- as much as I hope I’m not, then he may well want to keep it a secret. So our job, yours and mine, is to make sure Ezra knows that we care about him either way. That no matter what, we’re in his corner. And you cannot say things like what you said at dinner. You cannot call him out like that _especially_ in front of his mom and dad. If Ezra is gay, he’s going to have a lot of challenges to deal with and he needs his best friend to support him, not bring him down.”

“But I didn’t know!” Tony could feel his eyes welling up again.

“And now you do. So now you can make better choices.” She looked at him thoughtfully then added, “And remember, you’re supporting him, not playing hero. So no starting stuff with his parents that he’s not ready to deal with. I know you like to defend him but that wouldn’t be helpful.”

He’d just been planning that too. He slumped onto the kitchen table. “Ezra’s never going to forgive me.”

“I think he will, maybe not tonight, but he will.” She stood up and began to head toward the bathroom. Then she turned and rushed back to him as though she’d remembered something important. “Oh! And if you end up liking boys that’s totally fine too. I didn’t mean to skip that part.”

Tony stuck his tongue out, “I don’t want to date anybody!”

“And if it stays that way, that is also totally fine. Mommy loves you no matter what.” She kissed the top of his head and then hurried into the bathroom.

Tony stayed at the kitchen table, swinging his legs and trying to wrap his head around everything he’d just learned. It would take a while, he thought, to really get a grasp on everything. For now there was only one real take away: he had to be a better friend to Ezra.

There was a knock on the door, hesitantly, Tony went to open it. On the other side stood Ezra, overnight bag slung over his shoulder and sleeping bag tucked under one arm. Ezra couldn’t quite look at him. “I’m still upset but I had to stay over if we were going to complete the smuggling operation as planned.”

Tony could not ask him what he wanted to ask him, could not say all that he wanted to say. Instead he rushed forward, crashing against Ezra’s chest and wrapping his arms tightly around him. The older boy made a gentle ‘oof’.

“I’m sorry, angel. I’m sorry!” He wept into the fabric of Ezra’s button-up shirt. “I’ll be a better friend. I promise I will.”

And Ezra, because he was Tony’s angel whatever else he was, dropped the sleeping bag on the floor to better hug him back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm guessing a lot of people are going to be disappointed in Edith after this one. She might not be as fixated on gender roles as her husband, but she does have her own parallel set of issues. Mainly, she's got very set ideas about what she considers appropriate for children and still very much considers her high school age son a child. 
> 
> Basically, there's a touch of Mrs. ("Think of the children") Lovejoy from The Simpsons in her.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No particular tags or warnings this time around.
> 
> A note about drama programs in the United States (or at least my part of the United States):  
> Most high schools will put on two productions every year. The fall show is usually a straight play (a nonmusical), these often have relatively small casts. In the spring (although rehearsals start in winter) most schools will put on a musical production, which traditionally have larger casts.

October 2000

“You know I’ve never actually been to a restaurant without an adult before. This is so cool!” Rachel stifled a giggle by taking a large sip of her Sprite.

Aziraphale paused before biting into a mozzarella stick. Come to think of it, this was the first time he’d gone out to eat without a human adult since his transformation either. It was rather freeing, a reminder that all the discomfort of growing up was returning him to a level of autonomy he’d once been accustomed to. It made the fried cheese taste all the better.

“I know, right?” Keisha said. “I mean, I went out with the cheer squad once, but the seniors are practically adults and they treat me and Ella like the team babies anyway. Besides, I’ve missed you guys. I’m glad Ezra’s birthday got us all together.”

She raised her pink lemonade and the whole group clinked their glasses. It wasn’t the most momentous toast Aziraphale had ever been involved with but he appreciated it never the less. He’d always been a bit of a fourth wheel in the group, if one could forgive the torture of the metaphor, but he’d missed the connection. His schedule only ever allowed him to see Keisha and even then, it was only at lunch. The other girls were nothing more than fleeting smiles in the hallway.

It had been nice, then, to receive a call inviting him out for his birthday. Perhaps the restaurant wasn’t exactly highbrow, it was all primary colors and kitschy Americana nailed to the walls, but he felt appreciative nevertheless. Besides, he’d been told the ice cream was quite good.

Molly glared moodily at the appetizers, “If you guys weren’t so involved in your clubs and stuff, we’d have more time together.”

“My mom never lets me quit anything so I couldn’t if I wanted to,” Keisha explained, rolling her eyes. “That includes ballet _and_ jazz _and_ tap when I’m not at cheer. I’m going to have the perfect college resume if it kills me.”

“Besides, I told you Molly, you should sign up for stuff! I’ve met a ton of people that way,” Rachel added. “You’ve just got to find clubs that don’t have any tryouts or anything. Do indoor track with me! They’re desperate.”

Molly frowned. “Maybe.”

The poor girl looked so down on herself that Aziraphale felt the need to join in. “She’s right. If joining things interests you the trick is to find a place where you’re needed. I didn’t get cast in the play but Mr. Velasquez was in need of a stage manager so I’m still quite involved.”

In truth, he was rather enjoying himself behind the scenes. He wasn’t sure he’d bother to try out for any of the future shows. As keeper of the blocking notes and master of the script he’d made himself invaluable where he was.

“I guess… Maybe I’ll sign up for the yearbook. Matthew Barkley does that and he’s cute as hell.”

Aziraphale could hardly fault her reasoning. Not when he honestly looked his decision to join school’s theater troupe.

His little infatuation had _mostly_ subsided by this point. After all, he was seeing Mr. Velasquez three times a day and spending most of his afternoon in the man’s presence. He couldn’t spend all that time as a stuttering mess. In order to function he’d needed to take the reins of his own fantasies. The library of romance and erotica hidden beneath his bed had been just what he needed. He’d replaced his teacher with a parade of swashbuckling thieves, smirking gangsters, roguish aristocrats, and clever conmen- all with hearts of gold, of course. He’d been able view Mr. Velasquez with a clearer eye and found a somewhat dorky, over-eager educator who was willing to discuss books with Aziraphale at his level and who pushed him to challenge himself when writing. It was preferable to his erotic imaginings on all fronts.

Now all he had to do was make sure he didn’t examine his new fantasies too closely.

“So then, were you all planning to get together on Halloween as you have in the past?” Aziraphale asked, desperate to distract himself.

“Well, we’re definitely not going trick or treating anymore. We’re too old for that,” Molly said. “But Danielle Simons invited me to her costume party. Any of you guys going?”

“Oh yeah, she asked me too!” Rachel chimed in. “If you’re going, I will.”

“I can’t. Halloween is on Tuesday and I have ballet.” Keisha said. “Besides, if I can get my mom to let me go out afterward, I already agreed to go to different party…”

“With _the_ _squad_?” Molly’s tone made her feeling clear.

Keisha shrugged. “They asked first. And it probably doesn’t matter anyway because Mom doesn’t approve of parties on school nights. What about you Ezra, you going to Danielle’s?”

“I wasn’t invited.”

“He probably has a theater party anyway,” said Molly.

“I wasn’t invited to that either.” There was nothing organized planned, but he knew a few of the seniors and juniors would be getting together. They were all quite kind enough to him, but he was younger than the rest of the fall show’s small cast and his position as stage manager placed him outside the social group.

“You always take your little neighbor kid trick or treating though, right?” Keisha offered an encouraging smile. “That’s why you never went out with us.”

And Aziraphale lit up at the very thought. Despite the inauspicious end to their first Halloween together, he’d rather come to love the holiday. Each year they ranged a bit farther from the manse, just the two of them spending the whole night in one another’s company, always ending with a sleep over and frightening stories. He’d been so busy, between his increased school load and rehearsals, that he’d seen much less of Anthony lately. He was looking forward to their evening together. “Yes. I’m sure we are. It’s a bit of a tradition by this point.”

“That kid just worships you; it’s totally adorable,” Rachel said, pausing when the waitress arrived with their entrees but barreling on afterward. “I was kind of surprised he wasn’t with you when your mom dropped you off. He always gets so grumpy when you spend time with us instead of him.”

“Yes, well, he’ll be over for my birthday dinner tonight so I will be seeing him.” Aziraphale’s smile faded as he picked at the fries that had arrived alongside his chicken sandwich. “I actually did think he might throw a bit of a fit when I told him you lot had invited me out to lunch, since the weekend is the only time I get to see much of him anymore, but he took it all rather swimmingly. He said he wanted some time to practice on the piano anyway. He’s been surprisingly reasonable the last month or so.”

It was good really, a sign the boy was growing up. And yet, it left Aziraphale feeling a bit put down despite himself. It shouldn’t have. Anthony’s possessive streak, cute in a young child, was nonetheless important to unlearn. Still, the timing worried Aziraphale. Anthony had started pulling away after that evening at the bookstore, after whatever talk he’d had with his mother. It made Aziraphale wonder what she’d said to him.

Was it possible she’d guessed the truth of it all, told Anthony, and now the boy was disgusted by him? But no, when they did spend time together Anthony had been, if anything, sweeter than before. And besides, though he had sworn to keep his secret from Maddy lest it drive a wedge between her and the Clarks, he got the sense she was supportive. At least she was if he was reading her right.

He sighed into his sandwich.

* * *

There was a knock on Aziraphale’s door and he panicked for approximately fifteen seconds. In this brief moment he nearly shoved his reading material under the bed before remembering that he’d actually been doing his homework. _Of Mice and Men_ would not engender the same reaction as _The Seductive Scoundrel._ So he placed the book on the bedcover beside himself, primly sat up and called, “Come in!”

He hadn’t been entirely sure who to expect, but Elijah was the one who popped his head in. He was carrying a small box, wrapped in colored paper, and he paused in the doorway to look at Aziraphale proudly.

“I can’t believe you’re already fourteen. Gosh, you’ll be driving in two years! I can hardly wrap my brain around it.”

Aziraphale could hardly wrap his brain around that little thought either, but that was a bridge to be crossed on another day.

“Was there something?”

“Right, sorry. I didn’t just come in here to look at you and feel nostalgic. Your mom sent me up to tell you everything is just about ready. The dining room is decorated, the cake is complete, and the Drakes should be back from the Japanese restaurant with dinner any minute now. So, you won’t have to keep hiding up here just to preserve the magic of it all.” He chuckled, and Aziraphale did to. Edith was very particular about holidays and seemed to think things wouldn’t be quite special enough if Aziraphale observed the preparations- even though it would all look the same as it had the past four years.

He was about to get up, now that he had permission to go downstairs, but Elijah came further into the room. He sat down on the bed and held the box out. “I thought I’d give this to you now, in private, just in case you felt a little uncomfortable opening it up in front of Tony and the ladies.”

Aziraphale took the package tentatively, raising a distrusting eyebrow despite himself. Elijah’s preamble was making him nervous. He wasn’t entirely sure he wanted what was inside. The box had been wrapped inexpertly, clearly Elijah’s work rather than Edith’s. The creases were not crisp, there was no real symmetry to the folds, and he’d used entirely too much tape to contain it. The only real way to open the thing was to tear straight through the paper. He did so, revealing nothing more than a shoebox.

Whatever was rattling around inside, however, was clearly not the pair of loafers promised by the exterior. Lifting the lid, Aziraphale discovered a can of shaving cream, a razor, and a few extra blades. Flushing with embarrassment he could not quite explain, he raised a hand to his upper lip, where a bit of nearly invisible blond fuzz had begun to grow in.

He was glad Elijah had not presented this along with cake.

Aziraphale had never had to shave- he’d never wanted any facial hair and therefore never had any. He had _been_ shaved on a few occasions, when he’d been planning to visit the barber and thought the experience might be interesting, but it had never been a necessity. He’d hoped he had a few years left before dealing with any of this.

“Do you really think I need to start this already?”

“Not if you don’t want to, but you’ve definitely got some peach fuzz starting there and I figured you should have the tools to choose. I’ll show you how it works whenever you’re feeling ready to give it a go.” There was that look again, that one of pride simply because Aziraphale was going through the normal patterns of human aging. Aziraphale supposed that Elijah might have been looking forward to this. It was a manly bonding activity that was not as optional as baseball and boy scouts, particularly not for a boy who was so persnickety with his personal grooming habits.

“I suppose I would like to get rid of this thing as soon as possible. I’ve seen the boys my age who think they’ve grown mustaches. They’re all patchy and everyone looks as though they’ve simply forgotten to wash.”

Elijah laughed and ruffled Aziraphale’s hair. “That’s a bit harsh but I can’t say you’re wrong. Why don’t you and I have a lesson before church then. You can start the week feeling fresh.”

The door of the room opened, no knock, although it did not swing far enough for them to see more than a small hand and hear “Oh crap, I did it again!”. Then the door closed back up and knocking followed.

“You can come in, Anthony!” Aziraphale called out, trying to conceal a chuckle, “And thank you for knocking.”

The boy was red with embarrassment beneath his freckles as he shuffled into the room. He stared at the carpet and said, “Dinner’s ready.”

“Perfect timing!” Elijah told him, standing up with a bit of a groan. Aziraphale had always looked in his forties but he’d never actually been in them. Groaning seemed to come with the territory. “Just enough time for our talk and now the awkwardness can be replaced with cake and sushi.”

He left, though Anthony lingered, watching as Aziraphale placed the reused shoebox on top of his dresser. He stretched up to the tip of his toes so he could more easily see what it contained. “Is that what you guys were talking about?”

“Er, yes. Apparently it’s time I learned how to shave. I’m looking forward to the outcome, although I’m rather dreading the process. I suppose it will become habitual eventually, something like brushing one’s teeth or applying deodorant.”

“You do that already too?” Anthony asked, his voice swinging oddly high for a moment. Aziraphale looked at him more closely and it was clear from his wrinkled brow that the he was distressed, although precisely why remained a mystery.

“Is something wrong?”

“No… it’s fine…” He paused in the doorway, looking at the pencil marked lines that Edith had insisted on making of both boys’ heights every couple of months or so. She’d done one that morning for Aziraphale, and Anthony stared up at it with such a forlorn expression that Aziraphale wanted to hug him. Before he could, however, Anthony forced a confident grin and gestured to a line below his own head. “Hey, angel, I’m taller than you were when you were my age.”

“Oh, you know, I had noticed that. In fact, I wouldn’t be surprised if you end up taller than me in the long run.”

Anthony’s grin became real. “You think so? Like, really think so?”

“I would be shocked if you don’t. Of course, a good meal would help, and I’ve been informed that sushi awaits us downstairs. Shall we?” Anthony seized him by the hand, leading Aziraphale out of the room and down to his birthday celebration. Somehow, the angel very much doubted that any gift better than that proud little smile awaited among his presents.

* * *

“I keep reminding myself that it is just a school production and the main point is education. I can’t expect a troupe of American high schoolers to master the proper tone of a British farce on their first go around with the genre. Although, I do wish they’d work a bit more on the accents, only our Poppy has even gotten close. But I don’t suppose anyone will be as bothered by that as I am.”

Dinner was complete and Anthony was clearing the plates to make room for cake. Aziraphale had been prattling happily about the school’s production of _Noises Off_ and was distantly aware that he was veering into specifics that would allow no one to follow him into the rest of the conversation. It was his birthday dinner, however, and no one was going to stop him, so on he prattled.

Anthony paused by Aziraphale’s side as he picked up the last of the plates, “How come they gotta do accents at all?”

“Oh, well, the show is _very_ British. There are some shows where I don’t think it much matters. Shakespeare, for instance, can be adapted to different cultures and accents and time periods quite well. The same can’t be said for this show, it glories in its Britishness.”

Elijah leaned back in his chair, “Did you ever see the show before, back when you lived in London?”

“Oh yes, the first night it transferred to the West End!” Aziraphale’s smiled faded into stutters. “A revival though. Of course. I wasn’t alive for the first production, so I couldn’t have possibly been there.”

He wasn’t certain if the West End had seen a _Noises Off_ revival during the logical timeframe, but present company wouldn’t know either so there would be no trouble there.

“You went to a lot of shows before you came to live with us, huh?” Elijah said. From his words, Aziraphale might have expected him to sound downcast but he seemed excited. He drummed his fingers on an envelope in the small pile of waiting presents.

“Yes. I’ve quite enjoyed working on the show but, I must admit, I find myself missing London all the more.”

Anthony returning from the kitchen, his job now complete, settled in the chair beside Aziraphale and frowned at the tabletop. Apparently picking up a thread from earlier in the conversation he muttered, “I could do a British accent.”

“Oh, you think you can sound ‘Briddish’, do you?” Aziraphale teased. “And what part of ‘Bri-in’ do you intend to do? You realize the country includes Scotland and Wales as well as England? There’s a large variety of accents.”

“You made me watch _My Fair Lady;_ I know.” Anthony’s pout went away with his slouch as he moved to sit primly in his seat. He adjusted his chin, raising it slightly so that his nose stuck just a bit in the air. Belatedly, Aziraphale recognized an impression of himself. “I don’t see why you think it would be altogether difficult to speak as though one were from London. After all, you do it all the time without any trouble at all.”

Elijah, Maddy, and even Edith who was in the other room carefully positioning fourteen candles into a chocolate cake, burst into peals of laughter. Aziraphale could not help but chuckle himself. It wasn’t that Anthony had said anything particularly funny but he’d gotten Aziraphale’s mannerisms so precisely that there was humor in the very way he moved his eyebrows. The imitation fell away as Anthony beamed, pleased as he always was to make Aziraphale smile.

“Alright, you all calm down in there.” Edith called from the kitchen, “Tony, hit the lights, it’s time for cake.”

The lights dimmed, Edith arrived, candles casting a pleasant glow on her face as the rest of those assembled burst into song. She placed the cake down before Aziraphale, revealing a comedy and tragedy mask drawn on top with colored icing. It made his heart swell.

The evening went on pleasantly as the cake was cut and everyone enjoyed a slice. Anthony, buoyed by his earlier reception, continued entertaining the crowd until Aziraphale had eaten enough that he was ready to open presents. The gifts were mostly lovely but unsurprising- classic and modern literature that Edith deemed appropriate for her son’s innocent mind.

Soon, the small pile of gifts had dwindled, replaced by a pile of books at Aziraphale’s elbow. All that remained now were three envelopes, one from the Clarks, one from Maddy, and one from Anthony. They were all eyeing one another, like cowpokes at some old west shoot out, waiting to see whose card would go first.

Eventually, Anthony sighed and reached forward, sliding his envelope close to Aziraphale’s hand. He didn’t seem particularly excited about whatever was in it. Aziraphale opened it carefully nevertheless, not wanting to tear the paper card within.

Anthony had made it by hand, a crayon drawing of the two of them reading together on the front. That would have been enough for Aziraphale to treasure it from now until the centuries warped and yellowed it into nothingness, but there was more inside. The words ‘Happy Birthday’ beneath a scribble of something more detailed that had been crossed out. Taped below it was a plastic gift card to the mall book store.

Anthony stared at the table cloth.

“Sorry. I wanted to get you something you really wanted, but I didn’t know… I didn’t know what that was.”

“Nonsense! Why you are you apologizing? The drawing alone is precious to me, everything else is a bonus.” Aziraphale pulled him into an unreciprocated hug, although Anthony did snuggle into it without moving his arms.

“It’s got to be better than my gift,” Maddy laughed and she slid her envelope toward Aziraphale. He picked it up, leaving one arm around Anthony, and slowly tore open the paper. He wasn’t sure what to expect from her, wasn’t sure where the two of them stood just now. He didn’t learn much from the front of the card. All that met him was a mildly humorous picture of a dog staring longingly at a piece of cake.

Inside she’d written: _Free trip to the movies. Weekend of your choice._ Then in smaller letters _but Tony and I are free tomorrow._

“Thank you,” Aziraphale said, with perfunctory politeness. He had no special interest in moving pictures, had only ever gone with Crowley, and even that had taken a great deal of persuasion. The Clarks had taken him to the occasional animated feature over the past few years, but the visits had been rare. He had no idea what was playing currently.

“Mom said she’d get us popcorn and candy and drinks and stuff too. And maybe even take us out for dinner,” Anthony said, voice growing less muffled as he raised his face from Aziraphale’s arm.

Well, if they were going to go, at least it would be an event. “Tomorrow after church would be lovely.”

“Oh, what were you thinking of seeing?” Edith asked. Though she sounded mostly excited, there was an edge of worry to her tone. No doubt she was considering the content of what was presently in theaters.

“I wasn’t sure exactly. _Remember the Titans_ is supposed to be pretty good, so maybe that,” Maddy shrugged. “I considered _Pay it Forward_ , but after reading a review, I don’t think Tony and I really want to see that one.”

“Oh, I thought that was supposed to be uplifting,” Elijah said in surprise.

Maddy bit her lip. “I don’t know where it goes exactly but there’s some stuff in there that hits a little too close to home. If you get my drift.”

Her drift sufficiently gotten, a gloomy silence descended on the room. Aziraphale broke it. “What is this Titan movie about? Greek myths?”

“It’s a football movie!” Elijah said excitedly.

Maddy gave Aziraphale an apologetic smile. “It’s about a high school team in the 60s or 70s or whatever that’s integrating for the first time, so it’s historical, not just sports. But you know we can choose when we get to the theater.”

Aziraphale nodded, a knot of uncertainty forming in his stomach. If only he knew her intentions in suggesting the film. Was it really the historical aspect she thought would interest him or had she joined so many of the humans around him in trying to redirect his interests?

His anxiety only grew as Elijah and Edith grinned widely at him as he opened the final card. The envelope was a harsh shade of gray, the cardboard inside mostly oranges and blues, even the large blocky shapes of the letters implied masculinity. He swallowed, as he opened it, not knowing what awaited within. Four tickets fell into his lap.

Puzzled, Aziraphale picked one up. _Neil Simon Theatre 256 WEST 52 nd ST, NYC. Meredith Willson’s THE MUSIC MAN_.

It was not one of his absolute favorite shows but that hardly mattered. “Are we going to Broadway?”

Edith and Elijah were grinning from ear to ear. Edith squealed, “Not just Broadway. You and us and Tony are going to go spend two nights in New York between Christmas and New Year’s.”

“Really?” Aziraphale asked.

“Me too?” added Anthony.

Elijah laughed. “Yup, we asked your mom and she said it would be fine. We figured Ezra would have more fun if you were with us. We’ll see a show and have some street food and go to the Met and see the tree at Rockefeller center. We’ll do the whole thing.”

Aziraphale burst into tears. It was a gift for him, entirely and completely, in a way that made him feel loved. He felt it all the more when Edith hopped out of her seat to kiss him on the forehead and give him a hug. He felt adored and supported and yet… the feeling was incomplete. There was a piece of him he did not trust them with, a piece hidden away like his romance books upstairs. As much kindness as they could give him, he did not trust that he would ever feel he belonged here again. 

But Aziraphale was used to burying feelings and finding what joy he could just the same. So, all and all, he’d still call it happy birthday.

* * *

His tampered feelings continued into the following day when he climbed into the passenger seat of Maddy’s second hand car, preparing himself for a sports feature. It would be fine, really. He’d read up on it the night before and there did seem to be a bit more to it than just a bunch of high school boys playing American Football. An excellent actor as the coach for one and a dramatic, if perhaps oversimplified, look at a trying time in American history.

Still, Aziraphale found himself uneasy when he glanced over his shoulder and saw Anthony glancing nervously from Aziraphale to his mother and back again. Maddy too was acting strangely, babbling on about church gossip, although she rarely showed any interest in the topic.

When they arrived at the movie theater she handed Aziraphale a wad of cash and directed him and Anthony toward the snack bar, while she hurried off to get the tickets. The line for popcorn was long, giving Aziraphale time to take in his surroundings. The whole place was heady with the smell of artificial butter and the carpet beneath his feet had a dizzyingly complex pattern, likely designed to camouflage the day’s filth. He glanced in Maddy’s direction and the scrolling, digitized movie times up above the ticket counter.

Then he did a double take. It was a long way off from the next showing of their film.

“Anthony, I think we’ve made a mistake. We missed-”

The boy ignored him, talking loudly as though Aziraphale had said nothing. “My friend Ryan at school says he always gets M&Ms and puts them right in the popcorn bucket. I think maybe that’s gross but, like, maybe it’s good. I dunno. But it would probably melt and then your hands would get all buttery and chocolatey when you were trying to watch the movie. You think we should put M&Ms in the popcorn? It’s your birthday gift, so you can choose cause I don’t really know. Anyway, I think I want an Icee maybe. I like the blue ones, but the red ones aren’t bad. You think they’d mix ‘em together if I asked? You can do that with Slurpees at the 7-11, no one cares if you do. I tried it once. Mom let me get one when she took me to work with her. I mixed cherry flavor and coke and it was pretty good. I got a real bad brain freeze though.”

He managed to talk without pausing all the way until they reached the counter. Then he shut his mouth and let Aziraphale do all the ordering. By the time they were sent away with popcorn, candy, two cokes, and a cherry Icee, Maddy had finished at the ticket counter, and the question Aziraphale had been trying to ask was answered.

“A bit of a change of plans, I guess,” Maddy said, winking at Anthony in a way that implied this had been the plan from the very beginning. “New film's rated ‘R’, so maybe let’s not tell your parents about this?”

“Rated… What are we seeing?” Aziraphale jogged to keep up with her.

“I read a bunch of reviews and it’s only rated R ‘cause they swear a lot,” Maddy said as she handed the tickets to a bored looking teenager who gestured toward theater 8. “I just… I think you might like it, is all. It’s not playing everywhere, and I wanted to catch it while it was still in town.”

“It’s British,” Anthony added, apropos of nothing.

“But, what is it?” Aziraphale insisted again. The placard above theater 8 read: _Billy Elliot_ , but that didn’t tell Aziraphale much of anything.

Maddy finally paused and smiled at him. “It’s about a boy who wants to dance. Now come on, let’s get some good seats.”

* * *

The film took place in the 1980s in the north of England during the coal miners’ strike. There was, indeed, a lot of swearing but there was a lot of heart too. There was the boy’s family initially furious at his feminine choice of passion, learning to support him, giving up everything they had so that he might escape their dreary way of life by pursuing his dreams. There was the way Billy, not gay himself, was open and supportive of a friend who was.

And more than that, there was the fact that Maddy had brought him here. That she’d seen him struggling, knew it was something he did not wish to discuss out loud, and found a way to show him-in no uncertain terms- that she supported him no matter who he was. When the credits rolled and the lights went up, Aziraphale stood and hugged Maddy tight as he could. He didn’t want his response to be uncertain either.

When he stepped back he noticed, for the first time, that they were now nearly the same height. She smiled at him and said simply, “I thought you’d like it.”

They both knew what she meant.

Aziraphale turned, suddenly uncertain of Anthony’s reaction. If Maddy was supportive, as he was now sure that she was, then he couldn’t imagine she’d said anything ill of him that night after the mall. But he still didn’t know what Anthony understood. Would he have questions about the two men that had shown up together at the end of the film? Would he be bothered by a boy wanting to try on women’s clothing?

Why hadn’t he stood up yet?

Aziraphale swallowed, tentatively. “Anthony?”

“This movie…” The boy began, eyes wild and intense, “This movie has an awesome soundtrack! Mom, that was the Clash, right? I need more punk music! And who did that song, the one he did the angry dance to? I liked that one. I need it. I need this soundtrack. Mom. I need it.”

Relieved and suddenly amused by his own useless worry, Aziraphale burst into laughter. He could not stop, alternately giggling and snorting all the way to the car. He only laughed harder with each of Anthony’s indignant responses. “What? It’s not funny. They got some real good music. Punk music is cool! Like real punk. You’re British you should know about punk. Ezra! Angel. Stop laughing.”

“I’m…” he giggled again, “I’m sorry, Anthony. You just caught me off guard is all. I’m not laughing at you, not really. I promise.”

Anthony hmphed, but ceased complaining as he climbed into the back seat. Aziraphale let himself breathe deeply, enjoying a feeling of comfort, of relaxation, that he had not experienced in some time. As Maddy revved the key a few times to get the old car going, Aziraphale turned to smile at both of the Drakes.

“Thank you. Both of you. I’ve had a lovely time.”

“It’s not over yet, unless you want it to be. I was thinking we could grab a bite to eat at that diner around the corner, if you’re not both too full of popcorn and candy. Your parents aren’t expecting us home until after dinner. It’s up to you, Ez.”

Aziraphale glowed. “You know, I think I’d rather enjoy that.”

And he did.

Nothing much happened over dinner, nothing beyond idle chat and a few good laughs. Yet that was good in and of itself. It was nice to sit in company where he felt understood. It was nice to watch Anthony and his mother gently tease one another.

When the meal was finally over and they’d all arrived home, Aziraphale was warm all over. He hugged Maddy once more, thanking her for the movie, although they both knew it was more than that. Then he turned to smile at Anthony, who lingered as his mother headed back toward their apartment.

“We haven’t been seeing as much of each other as we used to. It was good to have the day together again.”

The boy shrugged, pulling his jacket in tighter around his shoulders as though the October evening had suddenly grown colder. “It’s fine. You got your play and other high school stuff. I get that.”

He scuffed his shoes against the pavement and Aziraphale felt as though he’d missed something. “Well, true as that may be, it doesn’t mean we can’t make time for one another.”

Anthony shrugged again. Nervous, Aziraphale kept talking, “Halloween, for example. Rehearsal should be over before it’s time to go out so-”

“I’m going trick ‘or’ treating with some boys from my class,” Anthony said abruptly.

Aziraphale tried not to look as though his heart had been ripped out. “Oh.”

“Yeah, so, you don’t have to worry about me. Mom said if I’m with a group we can go on our own. You don’t need to, like, babysit me or anything. You can do stuff you actually want to do.”

Aziraphale began to reach out, wanting to wrap him close, but Anthony was standing with hands shoved into the pockets of his jeans, elbows tight against his slim frame, like a shield against any physical affection. He’d been staring at the ground for most of the conversation but he glanced up now, wearing only half a grin.

“It’s fine, honest. I know you got other stuff to do and I can’t just keep you to myself all the time. And I like the kids in my class all right. Ryan gave me his extra Arbok card without even making me trade for it. And I got everyone to agree to go as a rock band, so we’ll all match anyway. You don’t gotta worry about me.”

Aziraphale forced his own smile back. “That does sound like you’ll have quite a bit of fun.”

Neither of them spoke for a moment. They just stood, looking everywhere but at one another. Aziraphale thought he could feel that cold breeze now, the one that had made Anthony pull his jacket tight.

It was Anthony who broke the silence, “I’ll come by your house when we’re done though, if you’re not out at some party or something. I’ll share my loot!”

“I’d like that very much,” Aziraphale told him. Finally pulling his hands out of his pockets, the boy gave Aziraphale a quick hug and a mumbled ‘happy birthday’ before hurrying off toward his apartment. Aziraphale stood watching him and wondered how humans all dealt with the awful complexities of simply growing up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Billy Elliot is really good though. Highly recommended.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter specific tag/warning:  
> Az acknowledges his previous attraction to grown up, demon Crowley and how that feels wrong given current circumstances.

The cast of Westwich High’s production of _Noises Off_ had all gathered along the front of the auditorium stage to receive their notes. The eyes on every one of them kept darting toward the door than back to their director to plead with him for their freedom.

“You can all stop staring at me like kicked puppies, rehearsal is over, go enjoy your Halloweens. BUT remember, we open in less than three weeks, so you better be taking care of yourselves and making good choices out there.” Mr. Velasquez gave a double thumbs up, causing many of his students to groan fondly.

Aziraphale sat nestled in the front row of seats, Mr. Velasquez’s script and legal pad arranged artfully in his lap. He would have happily had rehearsal go on for far longer, would have gladly stayed in the comfort of the almost empty theater. He reveled in the musty smell of the curtains and the scent of wood polish recently applied to the stage.

That and he had no Halloween plans of his own to rush off to.

Jennifer Yeats, senior and shoo in for the lead in whatever musical was chosen for the spring, called out, “Mr. V, if the play was already over could we make bad choices?”

“Very funny. But no, save your bad choices for after you graduate and make sure none of them are bad enough that they become gossip for high school teachers. You’re all precious babies and that’s how I intend to remember you. Now go on; go have fun. Halloween was made for drama kids.” As the cast dispersed out into the empty auditorium to gather dropped backpacks and excitedly discuss their evening plans, Mr. Velasquez turned to Aziraphale. “Thanks again for all the help, Ezra. It’s a lot easier for me to watch what they’re doing when someone else is manning the script.”

“Oh, it’s no trouble at all. I really do enjoy it.” He could feel his cheeks going pink as he handed over the director’s script. He’d _mostly_ gotten over his little crush, but mostly wasn’t all the way.

“I’m glad you got involved. The one thing I hate about doing the fall plays is how small the casts are. I hate having to cut kids, especially freshman who are so excited to join up. Are you thinking of trying out again for the musical or are you enjoying this job enough that you’d like to stick with it?” Mr. Velasquez smiled as he packed the script away amongst his things. Aziraphale busied himself with his own bag, fiddling with the zipper just to keep himself distracted.

“Oh, I think I’d like to continue stage managing if you’ll let me.” The role somehow combined his love of theater, fondness for the written word, and heavenly training as a platoon leader. It was a comfortable fit. “I imagine you’ll be needing the help even more come the spring. You’ll have the baby by then, won’t you?”

“March 1st,” said Mr. Velasquez and he beamed at the thought. Aziraphale waited as his teacher gave one last look around the auditorium, making sure none of his student charges was lingering in some odd corner. That business complete, they walked out together, or rather Aziraphale followed after like a professorial duckling. Outside the school, two of the cast members were huddled by the front door, hiding from a bit of chilly autumn rain that had begun to fall. Hopefully it would all clear up before it could ruin Anthony’s evening.

“You two know how you’re getting home?” Mr. Velasquez asked them and they both nodded.

“Ashley’s dropping us off. She just went to get the car by herself so we all wouldn’t get wet.”

“Your mom’s coming like usual, Ezra?”

Aziraphale nodded as a car pulled up and he watched the cast members clamber in. They leaned out the window, getting themselves wet despite all of Ashley’s effort. “Bye Ezra! Bye Mr. V. See you tomorrow!”

Then off they sped, leaving Mr. Velasquez and Aziraphale alone in front of the school, with no one but the occasional passing student athlete to keep them company. Aziraphale was glad for the company, although he knew Mr. Velasquez’s presence was more of a legal requirement than anything else. He was responsible for Aziraphale until Edith arrived.

Mr. Velasquez made small talk. “So, are you doing anything for Halloween? I know some of the freshman can still get away with trick ‘or’ treating.”

“Oh, I don’t really have anything. I’ve usually gone out with my friend, the one you met at the mall that one time, but he’s opted to go with some of his little classmates this time round, so I find myself with the evening free. I might get ahead on that essay you’ve assigned, I think.”

He could sense Mr. Velasquez staring at him so he tried to distract himself with the pattern of raindrops forming puddles on the pavement. “I know most of the cast is juniors and seniors, but they’re nice kids, if you wanted to hang out with them sometime I’m sure they’d include you.”

Aziraphale shrugged. “They’re all very lovely but I don’t find myself particularly interested in the sort of bacchanal I’ve heard goes on at high school parties.”

“Listen, I try not to know too much about my student’s social lives, which is difficult because my drama students like to tell me way more than I’m interested in, but they’re not all going to crazy parties like you see in the movies. It’s mostly just a bunch of theater nerds sitting in someone’s basement making bad jokes and quoting _The Rocky Horror Picture Show_ at each other.”

Aziraphale looked up at him, puzzled, “You know I never saw that one when it was on the West End.”

“I should hope not! You said you moved here when you were, how old? Nine? It’s kind of inappropriate.” He laughed, but then seemed to think the better of something. “Actually, uh, maybe you’re still kind of young for it… Listen Ezra, the musicals always have a bigger cast. There’ll be freshmen involved, you’ll find your people, I promise.”

Aziraphale was spared from having to formulate a response by the arrival of a familiar looking minivan. Edith rolled down the window and leaned across the passenger seat. “I’m sorry I ran late! I forgot you were ending early today. I hope you didn’t have to wait with him too long.”

“It was no problem, Mrs. Fell,” Mr. Velasquez called back.

Aziraphale whispered, “Clark.”

“Mrs. Clark. Sorry.”

Aziraphale nodded to his teacher, before climbing into the front seat. As they pulled away from the school, he sighed.

* * *

The fallen leaves didn’t rustle that evening, they were too bogged down with rain from earlier that day. Still, the clouds had cleared off and left behind a pleasantly chilly Halloween night. The air was just cold enough that it made you want to walk a little faster, and Tony and his classmates had managed to cover quite a lot of ground. He’d foregone the plastic pumpkin bucket for an old pillow case which could hold a great deal more. Presently it bounced against the polyester fabric of his pants, as he hunched along with his merry band and wondered how long he could stay out without his mother or Ezra getting too worried.

“We shouldn’t’a worn matching costumes. Now they’ll notice if we hit a house more than once,” Mikey C. grumbled. There were five Michaels in Mrs. O’Connell’s fourth grade class or, more precisely- one Michael, one Mike, and three Mikeys. The second initial was invaluable. Tony wished he could trade in his current Mikey for another one; Mikey C. wasn’t committed enough to his role.

“What’s the point of trick ‘or’ treating if your costume doesn’t stand out?” Tony asked. He’d been very particular about his own, choosing a store bought rock star costume with biker gloves, a studded plastic belt and an artfully torn skull shirt with mesh sleeves. He’d even gotten a long blonde mullet wig to complete the look. Sure, the plasticy fabric didn’t breathe very well and the wig felt like it was giving him a rash, but Tony looked cool and had a real guitar in the case strapped to his back. The least Mikey C. could do was keep his stupid bandana on.

“The point of trick ‘or’ treating,” snapped Mikey C. “Is candy.”

“Yeah, but we got a whole bunch already, and I’m tired!” Ryan whined. “Can we head back to Tony’s church? That’s where your mom said she’d pick us up.”

“Not ‘til 8:00.”

“Yeah, but we got trades to make first,” Ryan pointed out. Mikey C. conceded this point, and the three boys reversed course, heading back toward where they’d began the evening.

It was a long walk yet and they’d been entirely too thorough in their visitations earlier that night, leaving them little to do as they strolled along besides judge the neighborhood’s decorative choices.

“This is lame.” Mikey C. jumped in a puddle as they walked, splashing Tony’s pants with muddy droplets. Before he could get angry, the fabric repelled them and water rolled back down to earth. Mikey continued his complaints, “Halloween is supposed to be scary, isn’t it? My big brother and his friends went off to sneak into a graveyard. How come your church doesn’t got a graveyard, Tony?”

Tony, who was a little put out that he did not have a personal cemetery outside his home but wasn’t about to admit it, sped up so that he could turn dramatically on his heel and face his classmates as they walked.

“Only an idiot thinks you need to find a graveyard to come across a monster. They’re everywhere. They hide among us. You’re never really safe.” He didn’t know where he was going with this, but Ryan and Mikey C. had both gone wide eyed and very pale, so Tony kept on. “Of course monsters always try to look like real people, it’s just they’re not very good at it.”

Tony’s audience shivered, but he did not. He’d always had a fondness for creepy things, he liked to scare himself with stories that made him feel brave for getting through them. It helped to seek out the frightening in his waking hours because he’d had vivid nightmares since he was small. They’d never gone away, but they didn’t scare him so much anymore. He pulled from them now to spice up his stories.

“When you’re not looking they come out of the ground, straight up through dirt where the dead things sleep. They try and cover their monsterness with wigs and clothes but they can’t hide everything. Their eyes are dark as pits, with no whites or anything, and little nasty animals crawl all over them. Their skin is all rotten and scratchy and if they get their hands on you, just the smell of them will make you wish you were dead. But they won’t kill you fast. They’ll torture you, burn you, eat at your flesh for a hundred years. And just when you’ve finally gotten used to it, they’ll fill you up with bugs from the inside out and then BAM!”

He shouted, causing both of the other boys to scream. Tony burst into laughter, doubling over as his classmates got themselves together.

Mikey C. huffed, “That was real gross, Tony.”

“Made your Halloween less lame though, didn’t I?” They had, by this point, made their way to the church where they all settled down to await Mikey C’s mother and count out their loot. Ryan in particular took the trading very seriously, and went about the process with the air of a wall street executive.

Tony, who’d never appreciated sweets quite so much as Ezra did, made it his personal mission to make trades in his favor. He offloaded miniature Hershey’s bars in exchange for Kit-Kats and Twix. This was deemed an uneven trade and so he was forced to watch the amount in his bag start to dwindle away. It could have been worse. The three-two trade he was given had originally been a two-one trade, but he’d agreed to eat three sour Warheads at once for everyone else’s entertainment, an act that they all agreed had a fair amount of intrinsic value.

By the time Mrs. C arrived in the C family van, Tony was almost disappointed to see his friends go. A boy, a little older than them, a little younger than Ezra, hopped out and slouched over. “Hurry up and pick up all your candy, Mikey. Mom’s already pissed off because I tried to sneak into that graveyard.”

Tony stared at this boy, whose hair had been bleached and whose shoes had been written on with ballpoint pen as though he didn’t care about anybody’s rules. He suddenly felt very childish in his plastic rock star costume that had come off the rack of the local Party City. Was it possible to become so awesome just by entering middle school?

The boy looked back at him and gestured with his chin to Tony’s guitar case. “That real?”

Tony nodded.

“You play it?”

Tony nodded again.

“Cool,” said the boy and Tony grinned. If this awesome middle schooler, with his disinterested tone and rebellious sneakers, thought he was cool, maybe he could swagger over to Ezra’s house without feeling like he was wasting the older boy’s time.

* * *

Half An Hour Earlier

His teachers had been kind enough to avoid giving any homework, which left Aziraphale in the unfortunate position of having very little to do. He wished more children would come to the door, then he could volunteer his services as designated candy-giver, but the manse was tucked back behind the church and most children didn’t bother with it. So here he was, curled up in the living room arm chair saying nothing in particular as the adults chatted amongst themselves. A poorly produced, old, horror film played on in the background but no one was paying it any real attention.

“I’ve gotta say, I’ll be glad when the holiday is over. The Garden Center catches a break for most of November, between selling pumpkins and evergreen trees. Work’s been a total zoo.” Maddy had come over for the evening, and was happily gesticulating with her mostly empty coffee mug.

“I can imagine. We always start having more work with the church this time of year. I hope my education classes don’t get too much in the way. I haven’t had to deal with finals since the early eighties!”

“I’m sure you’ll do fine. And Ezra’s gonna have his first finals too, right? You guys can study together.”

“Well, he’ll just have midterms in the winter and I doubt he needs to study quite as much as I do. He’s the better student between the two of us, aren’t you, Ez?”

Aziraphale’s own beverage, a once piping mug of hot chocolate, had grown cold. He offered Edith a smile. “I’m sure you’ll perform admirably.”

They went back to talking and Aziraphale found himself struck by a sudden feeling of restlessness. Leaving his mug on the coffee table, he nodded good night to everyone else and made his way toward the stairs. When there was nothing else to do, there was always reading. He’d find a way to pass the time.

He hadn’t even made it to his bedroom yet, when he heard Elijah coming up the stairs. Peering over the railing of the upstairs hall, he offered the pastor a meek smile. “Was there something you needed?”

“Nothing particularly, buddy, I just wanted a chance to talk. You seem a little down tonight. Can I come into your room?”

Knowing that a refusal would only lead to further questions, Aziraphale assented. He was becoming used to these father-son talks where they both sat on his mattress and faced the wall. When the expected positions had been taken, Elijah spoke again. “All this change, the transition to high school, it’s pretty tough, huh?”

“I suppose.”

“I know you went out to lunch with your friends on your birthday, but is everything alright with that group?”

Silence wasn’t going to be enough to put him off. Aziraphale sighed. “I’m afraid that group is starting to fray at the edges. I’d rather expected it. Without the dance classes there’s less for everyone to bond over, and Keisha always had more social grace than any of the rest of us. I think it’ll all be a fond memory a year hence.”

Elijah struggled for his words, “That’s, uh, both very mature and a little fatalistic of you.” 

“Well it’s normal, isn’t it? The groupings have changed, the classes, the available social situations, everyone’s trying to reestablish themselves and find their footing, find themselves a place. And you and mother know more than well enough than I’m a bit slow at all that. I _have_ been trying because I know it worries you so, but I’m afraid it will take some time.”

“You know we’re here to help however we can.” Elijah put an arm around Aziraphale’s shoulder, making him oddly aware of just how much he’d grown recently. “And if you’re not making connections through your theater club, we’ll find something else.”

“Not scouts.”

Elijah laughed a touch sardonically, “Not scouts. But you are in the church youth group now, there’s a lot of get togethers outside of Sundays. There’s lock-ins and game nights and bible studies, there’s a big retreat that they do every July. They’re all great chances to get closer with some of the kids you already know through church.”

Aziraphale had found Westwich Methodist’s Youth Group to be full of teenagers who very much didn’t want to be there and those who very much did, without a great deal of middle ground. He offered a vague smile and a noncommittal shrug to the whole idea.

Elijah knew him well enough by this point to read the expression accurately, “Well, you don’t need to make any decisions now. I’m proud that you’ve been putting yourself out there even if nothing’s really clicked just yet. If you’re feeling a little lonely come back down stairs and join us on the couch again, okay?”

He rustled Aziraphale’s hair and then left, closing the door behind him. Alone with his privacy at last, Aziraphale hung over the edge of his mattress and swept back the bed skirt so he could eye the sordid library hidden there. He wasn’t feeling particularly _needy_ at the moment, so he skimmed past the smuttier titles and reached for a true romance.

He’d only just started _The Knave of the High Seas_ , but he’d been unable to put it down the previous evening. He felt, admittedly, a bit silly getting so caught up in a story that was nearly identical to the last two he’d read with nothing but a new historical period as a different coat of paint. At least with the erotica he knew what he was getting out of it. He couldn’t have explained his fascination with the more chaste romances.

Yet here he was again, lost in words, putting himself in the shoes of some uptight, high-born noble who’d managed to fall for a mischievous rogue who revealed himself to be kind and heroic when it counted. He wished that the author had spent a bit more time describing the man; vague descriptors left too much up to imagination. Without meaning to his mind cast the pirate captain as a lean fellow, tall, red haired, who smiled more with one side of his mouth then the other.

“Oh, fuck,” Azirpahale muttered and threw himself dramatically back on the bed, dropping the book on the mattress beside him. He kept doing that and he kept telling himself to stop. It made sense on one level. He’d been attracted to Crowley before this whole blasted experience had begun. He’d even been inching his way up to maybe acting on it. But thinking about it now made him feel all twisted and wrong. He couldn’t be lusting after some dream of what Crowley had been when what he was now was so innocent and pure.

But then, the book he’d been reading hadn’t been very lustful at all, really. Oh, there’d be a kiss at the end, sure enough, but it was mostly just two entertainingly mismatched characters bickering fondly with one another. Those had been his favorite as of late. Perhaps that was what he really wanted, the truest fantasy. The more he struggled to find a place among his peers, the more he watched Anthony carve out his own little niche in the world, the more Aziraphale missed the one being who’d ever made him feel as though he belonged.

He was interrupted from his thoughts by the sound of whistling coming from outside the house. Aziraphale sat up, chucked the book unceremoniously beneath his bed and peered out the window. There was Anthony, guitar case slung over his shoulder, pillow case full of candy in one hand, discarded blond wig in the other, whistling to himself as he came up the front walk. Aziraphale had not seen his costume before, and the sight of it wrung his heart out. He was dressed in a polyester parody of something Crowley might have worn.

It was at once so close and so far from the real Crowley that the thread of loneliness Aziraphale had been picking at unraveled. It was grief, a sensation of loss brought on by looking at a pale imitation where he needed the real thing to be. What part of his mood was the wretchedness of human adolescence and what part was the existential loneliness of immortality he could not have said, but Aziraphale sank into tears such as he had not shed in years.

That was how Anthony found him when he came upstairs with his bag of candy and forgot to knock on the door again.

“Oh no!” Anthony chided himself when he realized what he’d done. Then more gently when he saw his friend, “Oh no…angel.”

Aziraphale rarely cried in front of Anthony; it was something he tried to avoid. It didn’t seem fair, considering the age difference, for him to be putting such stress on a young child. So he tried to stop himself, tried to choke back his sobs, but it only resulted in a pathetic, ragged, sort of noise and the tears did not stop flowing.

He half expected Anthony to leave, perhaps to get one of the adults, but instead he approached and sat down on the mattress by Aziraphale’s side. His little hand came up to Aziraphale’s back and rubbed circles there, as his feet dangled over the edge, legs not long enough to reach the floor.

Feeling all the more wretched for making this child act like an adult, Aziraphale forced himself to breathe more deeply, trying to get control of his emotions. He buried his head in his hands and then his breath caught. Something small had been placed on his knee.

Opening his eyes, he saw the red packaging of a miniature Kit-Kat bar. He stared, through his tears and confusion, as a little golden Twix bar joined it. Very slowly, Anthony kept adding to the precarious pile, building a miniature pyramid of sweets on Aziraphale’s knee until the angel was so bemused that he’d stopped crying entirely.

“You silly boy, what on earth are you doing?”

“Trying to cheer you up a little. Did it work?” Anthony smiled, more with one side of his mouth than the other, and raised his eyebrows pleadingly.

Aziraphale laughed and sniffed with one breath. “Rather effectively, I must say. Thank you.”

“ S’alright, angel.” He unwrapped one of the miniature Kit-Kat bars and snapped it in half, popping one in his mouth and holding the other out for Aziraphale. “You wanna talk about it?”

Aziraphale shook his head, but accepted the chocolate. “I’m just being silly.”

Anthony rolled his eyes and scoffed. “You gotta stop saying stuff like that. If you’re that upset, it’s not silly. An’ if you’re not going to talk to me you oughta talk to somebody. We could smuggle you into my next meeting with Dr. Amanda, if you want.”

Aziraphale had stopped going to therapy about a year prior, mostly because he’d been doing well enough that it didn’t seem necessary, but also because he would have had to change therapists if he were to continue. Dr. Amanda’s practice specialized in play therapy with children twelve and under. He’d aged out.

Aziraphale shook his head but Anthony was not going to let the conversation end there.

“Well, then I’ll listen. You can tell me what’s bothering you. Even if I don’t understand it all, I’ll listen.”

With a sigh, Aziraphale reached for another sweet, gathering himself in the time it took to eat it. “Alright then. I’ve just… It’s been a bit challenging adjusting to a new school and all the social changes that come along with it. It’s nothing overly upsetting but I’m afraid the holiday made everything sort of bubble to the surface at once. It reminded me that, no matter how well I get on with people, I never quite seem to belong.”

He shrugged, unable to fight his natural inclination to minimize what he was feeling. Anthony was, very quietly, staring at Aziraphale’s book shelf. For a moment, Aziraphale was convinced he was being ignored, as though Anthony weren’t quite able to listen as closely as he promised too. But then he followed the child’s gaze and realized exactly what he was staring at. It was the copy of Grimm’s fairy tales that Aziraphale had brought over from London, the one that Crowley had given him.

Anthony’s brow furrowed, “You didn’t _never_ belong though, huh? You felt like you belonged back in England when you had that friend with you…”

“I…” Aziraphale opened and closed his mouth a few times before deciding to be honest “I suppose I did, more than I ever belonged anywhere else anyway.”

They had discussed the book and Aziraphale’s mysterious friend on a handful of occasions before and Anthony had always bristled. The idea that there was someone Aziraphale had cared about, whom he had no idea was really himself, brought out the boy’s worst tendencies of jealousy and possessiveness. Aziraphale watched him now, saw the way his fists gripped at the acrylic fabric of his pants. But then they loosened and Anthony turned to face him with a look of earnest determination.

“I’ll make sure you go back. Someday, I mean.”

Aziraphale blinked. “What?”

“Well, I know how much you miss it. I can tell when you’re talking about that play you’re working on and when we were watching that movie and the books you choose and the candy you like. See? I traded away all the American ones and only got ones they sell in England too. I looked it up. I mean, I know the recipes still kind of different, but I tried. And I’ll try to help you so that someday you can visit your home and feel happy again.”

Aziraphale looked from Anthony’s intense gaze to the pile of carefully selected sweets. His heart melted, “Oh. You’ve been so thoughtful… But I don’t want you to think I’m never happy. I do miss my home and I’d love to go back someday but just because I feel like a bit of a misfit, and it hit me particularly hard this evening, doesn’t mean I’m going around in a state of abject misery. There’s so much I’ve enjoyed since coming here. I’ve loved getting a chance at school and being involved in dance and theater. I never got to do any of those things before. And things aren’t ideal always with my parents, but I know they care for me in their own imperfect way. And more than any of the rest of it, I do love being with you, my darling boy.”

To his surprise, Anthony frowned. “Did you _want_ to go trick ‘or’ treating with me?”

“Well I… I sort of assumed we would, and I was rather looking forward to it. But I don’t want to get in the way of your making friends with your classmates. We are at rather different ages and we really should be spending time socializing appropriately.”

“That’s what Mom said about you. She said I should be happy that you’re having fun with theater and that I shouldn’t keep you all to myself. That’s why I asked if I could go out with Ryan and Mikey C. in the first place. I’d’a rather have gone with you. Mikey C. is a putz.”

Aziraphale laughed, fully, honestly, hard enough that he put a hand on his chest. That was at least part of a mystery revealed. He knew now what Maddy and Anthony had talked about, and he knew why it felt as though Anthony were sometimes avoiding him. He had been, just not for the reasons Aziraphale had thought.

He reached out, brushing hair back from Anthony’s forehead. “I think perhaps you and I need to be a bit more communicative in future. It _is_ probably good for both of us to socialize elsewhere on occasion, but there’s no need for us to try and read each other’s minds about it. I was starting to worry that you were outgrowing me.”

“I’d never,” Anthony insisted. “I thought _you_ were outgrowing _me_.”

“I could know you for millennia, my dear boy, and I’d never be sick of you.” Anthony gave him a sheepish grin and then hugged him tightly. Placing his cheek against auburn hair, Aziraphale sighed contentedly. He missed Crowley, he would continue to miss Crowley, but this too was wonderful in its own sort of way.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapters will continue to be posted on Wednesday but, going forward, they'll generally come later in the day. I'll be going back to physical work so I won't be able to post around lunchtime anymore.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The next four chapters are ones that weren't in the original plan for this fic. They act as a transition between what feel sort of like two separate acts. I think this chapter is the only one where it's very clearly a transition, but I think it works despite being a little choppy.
> 
> Chapter specific tags:
> 
> Nothing major. All birds and bees conversations happen off page.

November 2000

Tony hadn’t seen very much of Ezra in the little over a week that had passed since Halloween, but he thought he was handling it rather well. Instead of moping around the Clarks’ house while he waited for his mother to come home from work, he’d sit at their kitchen table and get his homework done or practice on one of his instruments. Once, he even went to Ryan’s house after school. It hadn’t been bad at all, really, Ryan had a PlayStation 2 and his mom let him go into the pantry all by himself to get snacks. They’d eaten an entire box of Gusher’s fruit snacks between the two of them and they hadn’t even gotten in trouble.

Still, when Friday night came around and Ezra was going to have a whole weekend free of rehearsals, Tony could not help but wait excitedly on the Clark’s front stoop for him to come home. His mother and Elijah were already inside, readying drinks, plates, and napkins for the families’ weekly joint pizza night. Tony, however, leaned over the porch railing and stared at the church parking lot willing Edith’s minivan to appear.

When- at last- it did, he pounded down the stairs, raced across the lawn, and was standing by the car before it had even come to a complete stop. Ezra’s eyes went wide in surprise for a moment, before squinting as he smiled. “You weren’t waiting outside for too long in this chill, were you?”

Tony reached out and took the pile of pizza boxes Ezra had piled on his lap and shook his head, “Nah. Not too long.”

“I should hope not. I’m hardly worth catching a cold over.”

“How do you know I wasn’t just waiting for the pizza?” Tony’s sass was met with an even brighter smile from Ezra and a slight reprimand from Edith.

“Tony, that’s not nice.”

“He knows I’m just kidding,” Tony said, trudging after her as Ezra gathered his things and brought up the rear. “I’ve been waiting all week to hang out. Haven’t I, angel?”

“Yes, I’ve promised to teach him how to play Risk.” This was true, but that wasn’t what Tony was waiting for. He just wanted to spend time with Ezra.

The evening was uneventful. They were all tired after a long week and, instead of sitting at the table, they all balanced their plates on their laps and gathered around the television to watch game shows. During Jeopardy they shouted out the answers. Ezra got nearly every one right, except in the pop culture categories where Maddy remained the champion. When their plates were empty and Alex Trebek had made way for Pat Sajak, they all felt rested enough for normal human conversation. Though the back and forth was occasionally interrupted by Ezra glancing at the screen and solving the Wheel of Fortune puzzles before there were hardly any words in them.

Tony was only half paying attention to the conversation, as he walked in and out bringing plates and glasses to the kitchen sink. When he reentered for the last time, now baring the cookie jar, Edith had leaned forward to put a hand on Ezra’s shoulder. “Oh, honey, can you go get the tickets out of your backpack before we forget?”

“Tickets to what?” Tony asked. He dug out a few cookies for himself before handing the jar off to his mother.

Edith smiled, “Ezra was able to purchase some tickets ahead of his show so that we’re guaranteed a spot.”

“I really don’t think we need have worried,” Ezra called from the foyer, where his backpack hung on a hook, “Mr. Velasquez told me the fall play has never sold out.”

He returned, two cardstock tickets in hand, and passed them over to Edith.

Tony wrinkled his nose, “How come you only got two of them?”

“Well, I don’t need one. I’ll be back stage.”

“I know _that_. You didn’t get any tickets for me or mom.”

“Well, I…” Ezra seemed taken aback. He turned to Tony’s mother. “Did you want to see it, Maddy?”

She shrugged over her Sprite. “I’m cool either way but, if you want me to come, I’d be glad to.”

Ezra had said they needed to be more communicative, Tony decided to practice this by waving his hand over his head to get everyone to stop looking past him. “ _I_ want to see it.”

To his surprise, Ezra turned pink. “You can’t.”

“Why not?”

“You’re too little.”

Tony spent a lot of time worrying that Ezra thought of him as nothing more than a little kid, but this was the closest he’d ever come to just saying it out loud. “I am _not_!”

Elijah interrupted, voice calm and steady. “I think Tony should be fine sitting through a few hours of the show. He’s coming to The Music Man with us and he sat through all those recitals and those were _way_ longer.”

“It’s not… it’s not that,” Ezra stuttered. “It’s… well, the show is a farce. A _bedroom_ farce or, arguably, a satire of one. It’s not… it’s not appropriate for him.”

Edith sat up very straight. “What exactly is the show about? You said it was about actors putting on a play.”

“Yes, but the play _within_ the play is a bedroom farce. It’s been a bit edited down for the high school performers but not to the point that Tony will be able to follow any of it. He won’t know what’s going on.”

Edith breathed in deeply through her nose, “I should’ve read the script. I would’ve spoken to this teacher of yours.”

“ _Mother,_ please!” Ezra said at the same that Tony shouted. “I’d know what was going on. I’m not stupid.”

Ezra turned his exasperation from his mother to Tony, “It’s not that you’re stupid it’s that… well… you’d be missing information.”

“Information that should not be necessary for a _high school_ show!” Edith said, utterly scandalized. Her horror only grew as she added. “You said you saw it in London! You were younger than Tony is now!”

Ezra, if possible, looked even more frazzled, “Well, that’s… that’s well… that’s what I’m saying. I hadn’t a clue what was going on. Utterly wasted on me. I just knew the adults were laughing about something.”

Before Edith could speak again, Elijah put an arm around her shoulder. “It’s alright, honey. There can’t be anything in it that wouldn’t be in a PG-13 film and he’s old enough to go to those on his own. Without our permission.”

“I suppose.” She took a deep breath. “Still I think I ought to-”

“Honey, how embarrassed would you have been if your mother showed up at your high school to go on a crusade like that?”

She glanced at Ezra, who was now so red faced and flustered that he looked like he might fall apart. Then she sighed, “Alright. I won’t make a fuss.”

With that decided, Tony felt he ought to continue his own fuss. “So then I can go?”

“No,” said Ezra.

“No!” said Edith.

“No way, little guy,” said Elijah.

But Maddy sat up in her seat. A few years earlier, when she’d only just regained custody of Tony, she generally took the words of the Clarks as gospel. Now, though she still sounded hesitant and unsure, she spoke nonetheless. “I’d… I’d like the script, if you’ve got one, Ez. I want to read it before I make a decision.”

The Clarks all seemed to deflate, but Ezra did return to his backpack and fetch a thin book for Maddy. “My notes and everything are in there. You can ignore them.”

“Thanks. I’ll get it back to you before Monday. Promise.” She stood up, holding a hand out for Tony. “See you all tomorrow, I’ve got some reading to do so we’re going to head back home.”

Their sudden departure left Tony feeling off kilter. He hadn’t expected it, still had no idea why Ezra didn’t trust him to sit and watch a show, and felt as though his mother’s reasonableness had cut his righteous indignation off at the knees. He held her hand anyway, letting her lead him all the way to the front of the church before he regained enough awareness to speak.

“So, you’re going to let me go, right?”

“Probably not.”

Tony’s mouth fell open. “How come?”

“Because Ezra knows you really well and he’s probably right.” She sighed and scratched the back of her neck uncomfortably. “Look, when we get up there, I want you to take a shower and get yourself ready for bed. Then, you and I are going to have a very important conversation that I think you’re ready for. I think you’re becoming aware of when you’re missing things and it’s time you get some facts.”

Remembering the last time they’d had a _very important conversation_ Tony frowned. “Am I in trouble?”

“Nope. This isn’t trouble. It’s just… facts. And I want to see how you feel about those facts before I let you see this show. But shower first, alright. I’m gonna need that time to get my thoughts together.”

* * *

On Saturday morning Aziraphale was curled up on the couch, school assigned copy of _Romeo and Juliet_ open in his lap. He hadn’t gotten very far in his reading, not that it mattered much, he’d seen the play countless time in the last 500 years. This was a unit he could sleep walk through. Still, he’d intended to read it, but he kept looking up towards the door waiting for Anthony to arrive. It was past 8:30 already and his mother had to be at work by 9:00. He ought to have been here.

He felt rather poorly about last evening. He knew the age difference was a bit of a sore spot with Anthony and, even though he still thought he was right, Aziraphale wished he’d handled the situation better. The longer Anthony took to arrive, the more he worried that the boy was truly upset with him.

When the door opened up, Aziraphale jumped to his feet, seeing no reason not to appear eager. To his disappointment, Maddy entered the house alone. For someone who hadn’t gone to work yet, she already looked exhausted.

“Hey, Ez. Where are your parents?” Before he could answer, the Clarks poked their heads out of the kitchen. Maddy gave them a weary smile. “I couldn’t get Tony to come over today. He didn’t want to leave his room. Do you mind just checking up on him occasionally instead?”

“That’s completely fine,” Elijah assured her. “I was planning to go work in my office over in the church anyway. I’ll be just down the hallway from the apartment. I’ll make sure he doesn’t get in any trouble.”

Maddy was clearly relieved. “Great. Thanks. I don’t know what I would do without you guys. I should get going.”

As she headed back out the front door, Aziraphale hurried after her, book still clutched in his hand. She stopped, surprised when she heard him on the stoop behind her.

“I’m sorry, I know you’re already running late. I just… Could you tell me… Is Anthony angry with me?”

To his surprise, Maddy laughed. “No. The poor kid is… processing today. I told him about the birds and the bees last night and well… You were right; he wasn’t ready to see your show. You can go over to the apartment if you want. It might actually help him to talk things out with an older kid. I told him not to talk about it at school, since I don’t know what other kids are aware of yet, and he seems a little scandalized by most of the adult world today. It’s not your job though Ezra. I’ll talk to him again when I’m home from work, so don’t worry about him.”

She glanced at her watch, visibly recoiled, and then sprinted off to her car. Aziraphale was left alone with his thoughts on the front stoop. He could remember, very distinctly, running into Crowley in Athens back in 411 B.C. They’d both been attending a production of _Lysistrata_ and caught sight of one another across the rounded stage. Aziraphale, despite what he’d considered his better judgement, sought him out after the show was over.

The demon had looked as though he’d just been to a deeply horrific tragedy, rather than a comedy. He’d mouthed wordlessly in Aziraphale’s direction before pulling him aside, out of ear shot of the human crowd.

“Have they been doing that the entire time?”

“Has who been doing what, Crawly?”

“Them. The humans. Have they been doing, you know, what they were refusing to do in the play?”

Aziraphale had nodded.

“ _The whole time_?”

“Since the beginning,” Aziraphale had responded, hiding his amusement. “Where did you think the young ones were coming from?”

“That’s part of it too?”

Aziraphale had nodded, not sure what else to say. The demon had wandered off, muttering to himself and it had been some time before they ran into one another again. At some point Crowley must have come to terms with the idea. He’d laughed at all the dirtiest jokes when they’d attended performances at the globe.

He could only hope that Anthony would get through his disbelief as well. Aziraphale supposed he’d made one improvement in this incarnation- he was learning at a faster rate. Nine years was a much shorter time frame than 3,593.

Popping back into the Clark’s home for just a moment, Aziraphale shouted toward the kitchen, “I’m going to go check in on Tony. Maddy said it was alright.”

Edith reappeared, mug of coffee in her hand. “Alright, honey, if she said so. But if he needs to be alone, give him some space.”

Aziraphale nodded, grabbed Elijah’s set of spare keys, and turned around to hurry toward the church. He always felt a little odd going to the Drake’s apartment. It made him wonder what Crowley was going to say to him when they met up on the other side of all this. He couldn’t imagine the demon would be happy to discover he’d literally been raised in a church.

When he reached the Drake’s front door Aziraphale knocked. Although he had one of the apartment’s spare keys in his hand, it seemed rude to do otherwise. At first there was no response, but after a second, louder rapping on the door, Aziraphale heard the muffled sound of music stop and a moment later the door creaked open.

Tony peered out from the crack with the air of a lookout during some criminal activity. When he saw that it was Aziraphale, he reached out and grabbed his wrist, yanking him into the apartment before shutting the door behind him.

The child hissed, “Did you know?”

“Did I…? Are you asking about what your mother told you last night?”

“She told you too?!” Anthony squawked.

“I, er, I was already in the know, as it were. She just inferred the conversation via well-known euphemism.” Aziraphale watched as Anthony stared into the middle distance and shook his head. “Are you alright? She implied you were a bit in shock.”

“It’s just, it’s so weird. Why would anybody do that? Cause she said it was for babies but then she also said people just do it cause they like it. Why would anyone like that? Sticking each other’s parts in… Euughh. It’s so GROSS!” He was pacing back and forth across the room and gesticulating wildly. Seeing that Anthony was disgusted, rather than traumatized, Aziraphale curled his lips in to hide a smile.

Anthony continued his rant. “And the weirdest part isn’t even the thing. It’s the part where they’ve all been doing it this whole time and I didn’t know. Like there was the big grown up secret that everybody was in on and they’ve been making jokes and songs and stuff and I didn’t notice. Now I know why Mom sends me to buy candy during certain scenes in movies and why they bleep out sounds on the radio. Everything’s changed, angel. EVERYTHING’S CHANGED!”

“I’m sure it’s not as dramatic as all that.”

“Not dramatic? NOT DRAMATIC?” Anthony asked achieving a level of drama that Crowley would have been proud of. He rushed from the main room of the house into his bedroom, leaving the door between them wide open. Aziraphale followed, hesitant, and stood in the doorway as Anthony dug through his record collection. “I’ve been listening to these for years and they’ve been full of secrets this whole time.”

“Anthony-”

“Queen: ‘Good Old Fashioned Lover Boy’ _Come on and sit on my hot-seat of love_. Cheap Trick: ‘Surrender’ _When I woke up Mom and Dad were rolling on the couch_. The Beatles: ‘Why Don’t We Do It in the Road’ just the whole thing. Def Leppard’s ‘Pour Some Sugar on Me’ is definitely NOT about dessert. Quite Riot didn’t accidently spell ‘Cum on Feel the Noize’ wrong. The Doors: ‘Light My Fire’, I think. I don’t know. I can’t tell anymore. EVERYTHING I KNOW IS A LIE.”

He sank to his knees, the final album still clutched in one hand, then let himself collapse to the ground in a heap.

Aziraphale folded his arms, “Anthony, have you spent all morning going through your records to find references to sex?”

“Don’t say it!” Anthony popped up, looking horrified.

“It’s just a word for a process that most humans and animals will choose to engage in at one point or another. There’s no need to throw a fit about it.” Aziraphale kept his voice as calm as possible. “It’s perfectly fine for you to find the prospect unpleasant, children generally do and so do some adults, but that doesn’t mean you need to get yourself worked up. It’s not something you’ll need to think about for some time yet, but it’s good you know already. You won’t be taken off guard by a classmate’s jokes or health class or ancient Greek theater.”

Anthony folded his arms and narrowed his eyes. He looked at Aziraphale as though he were a traitor. “Mom said teenagers were interested in it. I should’ve known. Those book covers-”

His eyes went perfectly round and he slapped his hands over his mouth. His voice came out muffled between his fingers, “Sorry. I’m not supposed to mention that.”

“And I rather you didn’t. That’s very… private. Now, are you done having a moment or do you want to continue shouting inappropriate song lyrics at me?”

Anthony got to his feet, looking a bit sheepish. “I’m done freaking out, but I’m not done being _weirded_ out. And I don’t want to look at an adult for a while. Unless… Your parents adopted you, do you think they don’t-”

“Judging by the similar talk I was given, I rather suspect they do. Although, I don’t want to think about that, to be frank.” Aziraphale’s disgust was followed by the somewhat stunning realization that he was only bothered because, on some level, he had come to think of them as his parents.

There was a knock on the door and Aziraphale opened it to reveal Elijah. He smiled at them, “I just wanted to check in and make sure you boys are doing alright.”

Anthony made a noise of distaste and hurried back into his room. Elijah turned to Aziraphale for some explanation. Aziraphale sighed. “Maddy enlightened him as to the, er, facts of life and he’s sworn off adult interaction for the time being.”

“I guess we can assume you don’t need to get any extra tickets for show, huh?”

“I think that’s a safe assumption, yes,” Aziraphale said and closed the door.

* * *

December 2000

By the time Thanksgiving rolled around, Tony had forgiven the adults for their depravity. By the start of December, horror had diminished to a scientific sort of curiosity. He’d thought he was being rather clever looking things up on Elijah’s office computer but apparently there was a list of visited websites Tony didn’t know about. He’d gotten a rather stern talking to from the pastor and the following weekend a book from his mother entitled _It’s Perfectly Normal._ He flipped through the pictures, decided he was right about everything being gross and gave it back to her. She told him she’d keep the book until he felt ready to look at it again. He assured her that that wouldn’t happen until he was at least thirty and went to find something more interesting to do.

He was a kid, it was the holiday season, and whatever weird crap adults wanted to do in their spare time wasn’t going to keep him from enjoying Christmas to the fullest.

Tony paused at the front door and considered putting on his coat. It was cold outside, though they hadn’t had any real snow yet, and he’d probably be cold without it. Still, he didn’t intend to go any farther than the Clarks’ house. If he ran full tilt the cold wouldn’t be able to catch him.

As it turned out, he wouldn’t need to even go that far. It was Sunday afternoon, a few hours past the morning’s services, but December was a busy time for the church and people were still milling about everywhere. The Sunday School classrooms that shared the second floor with the apartment and Elijah’s office, were filled with children practicing for the upcoming nativity play. On the first floor, in the Fellowship Hall, which was set up for the same annual charity drive that had first brought Maddy and Tony to the church’s doors, he came across the Youth Group with Ezra among them.

They had pushed the tables of donated goods to one side of the room so they might have space to lay out ancient tarps and large boards of plywood which they were currently transforming into the city of Bethlehem. Although there were considerably more teenagers that attended the Sunday Youth Group meetings, only eight had volunteered for this particular task. All of them, Ezra included, were dressed in beat up old clothing now splotched with various colors of paint. Tony recognized Ezra’s outfit as the same one Elijah wore when he did yard work or tried to fix the sink. Nothing Ezra actually owned would have been suited for the task.

Leading them was a clean-cut man who Tony had heard referred to as the Youth Pastor. Exactly what that meant beyond being a younger version of Elijah with slightly darker hair, he wasn’t certain. Presently, he knelt between Ezra and an older boy with one of those floppy blond hair cuts that one member of every boyband had to have. “Your dad told me we’d be seeing more of you outside our Sunday meetings. We’re glad to have you, Ezra. Aren’t we guys?”

The other teenagers, with varying levels of enthusiasm, agreed.

The boy with the good hair gave Ezra a white-toothed smile, “We do some really cool stuff as a group. There’s the February lock-in and bible camp and Pastor Harvey gets us pizza if you go to Wednesday Night bible study.”

“Well I, er, that is… I’m sure I’ll have a lovely time with you all when I can, but I’m not certain I’ll be able to attend everything. I have, er, other commitments as well. Or I will once the spring musical starts production.”

“Oh that’s fine. That’s fine. We’ll be happy to have you whenever you’re available,” Pastor Harvey assured him. “With your family, I’m sure you get plenty of bible talk at home.”

“I bet before you graduate Youth Group becomes the only club for you,” good-hair boy said with another winning smile, “Pastors’ kids go one of two ways, all in on religion or total rebels, and you don’t strike me as a total rebel.”

Ezra’s laugh was nervous, “Not in most cases. No.”

A girl, who’d left the tarp to switch one poppy Christmas CD with another, giggled. “Well, either way you should totally give us your AOL screen name. We have an AIM group for Youth Group.”

“An Ayowell what?”

“Screenname. You know, for AIM? Instant messenger. Don’t you chat with your friends on it? I mean, you ‘ve got at least one cool friend. You sit with the cheerleaders at lunch. And I’m sure the drama kids use it.”

Pastor Harvey nudged Ezra’s arm. “Cheerleaders, huh?”

Ezra’s look of disgust was poorly concealed. “I… uh… I’m sorry I’m rather lost. I talk to my friends with a phone?”

He was glancing about now, looking from face to face, certain he was doing something wrong but uncertain exactly what it was. He’d dropped his paint roller and was twisting his hands together anxiously.

Ezra needed to be rescued.

“It’s a computer thing. You just write messages back and forth to each other,” Tony said, strolling into the room, drawing the attention of the assembled adolescents. He turned to the pushy girl. “He doesn’t have a screen name. The Clarks got a computer in Elijah’s church office and one in their room. Ezra only gets to use ‘em for homework.”

He squatted down beside Ezra and picked up the paint roller as though he was always supposed to have been there.

Good hair boy spoke again, “Ah, no way! You’ve got to ask Pastor Clark to get you a computer for Christmas.”

“But they’re so expensive! I couldn’t possibly.”

“Oh, they’re not that expensive,” said pushy girl.

Tony blinked at her, wondering how much trouble he would get in if he said something rude. A lot, probably, since mini-Elijah was here. What he wanted to do was call her snobby or maybe start singing Hal and Oates _Rich Girl_ , instead. He hadn’t realized much, before this year, just how wealthy most of Westwich was. Maybe it was because he was getting older, or maybe it was because Ryan had his own hot wheels computer, two types of PlayStation, and was going to spend Christmas break skiing at his family’s second home in Vermont, but he was starting to notice the difference. The church Manse, which the Clarks’ did not technically own, was one of the smaller houses in town. They weren’t poor, not like Tony and his mother in their discount, charity apartment, but they weren’t loaded either.

He supposed that was just another thing that made Ezra feel like he didn’t quite fit. 

He certainly didn’t look very comfortable with all these other teenagers. Tony leaned in protectively close to him and resolved to stay there for the rest of the day. This plan was short lived.

Elijah entered the room.

He smiled at first, face lit up to see the Youth Group working hard together to help improve the children’s production. But his eyes widened when he saw Tony, then they narrowed as he sighed. “Tony, you’re not part of the Youth Group.”

“I’m helping the church!” He waved his paint roller around for emphasis, but only succeeded in splashing his clothes with little specks of night-sky blue.

“That’s very good of you, but if you want to help with the Nativity play the kids’ groups are upstairs working. I’m sure they’d love to have you.”

“But-!” Elijah was coming toward him, nodding sagely to each adolescent that he passed. He stopped only when he loomed over Tony.

“Please give that roller back to Ezra and we’ll go find Edith and see if there’s something you can do in the show. You like performing, don’t you?” He didn’t wait for an answer but turned to the Youth Pastor and mouthed ‘I’m sorry’ instead.

“Yeah, I guess I like performing okay but only when the music doesn’t suck.”

Elijah looked at him so sternly that Tony immediately handed the roller to Ezra and stood up. He let the Pastor take his hand and lead him out of the room, casting just one last backward glance toward his friend as he was taken away. Ezra watched him, mouth just slightly open, as though he wanted to find an excuse for Tony to stay but couldn’t think of one.

Elijah paused, in the privacy of the stair well, and turned to face Tony. “When Ezra is spending time with the Youth Group, you need to leave him alone. Understood?”

Tony folded his arms and glared at the floor.

Elijah sighed. He did that a lot when it was just the two of them. “I am so happy that you two get along as well as you do, but it’s important for both of you to have friends your own-”

“I know! I know. Mom and I already had this conversation. But it’s different then when he’s at rehearsal. He likes that. I don’t think he’s very comfortable with those Youth Group kids.”

“Well, it’s only his first time meeting with them outside of church hours, I’m sure he’ll get more comfortable with them the more he does it.”

“Nuh-uh!” Tony insisted. “They were being all snobby about him not having his own computer or AOL or nothing.”

Elijah’s demeanor changed. Exasperation turned to something like guilt. “They said that?”

“I’m not sure they were being mean on purpose, but they were acting like he was weird for not knowing what AIM was. He was getting real nervous.”

“Well, thank you for sharing that with me, but you still need to give him a chance to handle that without you. Now, come on, I’m sure Edith would love to have you join the Nativity Play.”

“I don’t want to. Can’t I just go back to the apartment? Mom’s cleaning. I’ll help her scrub the toilet or anything. I don’t wanna do the play.” He followed Elijah up to the second floor, even as he complained. Perhaps he could reach his own front door before the pastor got him into a classroom.

“What have you got against the Nativity play, anyway?”

Tony shrugged. “I dunno. It’s just, I don’t want to have to get into a costume just so I can say one line and sing the easiest songs. It’s not like a regular show. Adults think it’s cute, not like, actually good or anything. I’d feel like a baby.”

Elijah’s face softened. “You really don’t want Ezra to think of you as a little kid, do you?”

Tony did not answer but stared at the floor without saying anything. Elijah seemed to take that as an answer anyway.

“What if, instead of being a character in the play, Edith and I found a place in the service where you could do a song instead? Christmas themed. Your choice. Our approval. You can even do your own accompaniment if you’d like, guitar or piano.”

Tony looked up at him in awe. His only audience ever had been that cook out with the old people. To have the whole congregation, at the one time of year when everyone actually bothered to show up, he kind of thought he’d love that.

“For real?’

“Yup, but you’ve got to go help Edith out today, so that she can tell you what songs are already taken, alright?”

Tony nodded. If he wasn’t going to be allowed to put himself between Ezra and the Youth Group he might as well spend the afternoon earning himself an audience.

* * *

December 24, 2000

“Buddy, hurry up, your mother’s already over at the church and I’d like to arrive before my entire congregation.”

“I won’t be a minute!” Aziraphale took one last look at himself in the mirror and adjusted his bow tie. Red and green, of course, it was good to be appropriate to the season. He hadn’t many opportunities to dress in a proper suit these days. If he had the chance, he was going to lean into it.

Quickly, but not fast enough to rustle his clothing, Aziraphale joined the pastor downstairs.

The Clark home was a veritable festival of holiday cheer in December, wreaths, garlands, plastic Santas, scented candles, stockings hung by the chimney with care. It made it difficult to feel anything but cheerful. He smiled at Elijah who was waiting by the door and received the same in response.

“You gonna bother with a coat, or should we just head out?”

“Oh, I think we’ll survive the walk.”

Together they locked up and made the brief journey over to the church. The parking lot had already begun to fill up, mostly with parents bringing their children early so that they could be tucked away in their classrooms, ready to perform before the rest of the congregation arrived. In prior years, Anthony had usually hid from them by hanging around the Clark residence until the last possible moment. This year, he was taking part in some capacity that he was keeping secret. Aziraphale hadn’t seen him all day.

“Are you getting excited for our New York trip? It’s just a few days now.”

“Oh yes, I’ve been looking forward to it for months. It’ll be nice to go into the city for something longer than a day trip.” The Clarks had taken him a few times over the years, but never overnight and never for a show. He had, it was true, spent a week there back in the 1920s under the auspices of seeing whether prohibition was having the desired moral effects. He’d discovered, to his private delight, that it most certainly was not. He’d gotten rather drunk and thoroughly enjoyed himself at the Broadway production of _No, No, Nanette_.

He told none of this to Elijah.

The church sanctuary was warmer than usual, the heat having been turned on early for the Nativity rehearsal. As Elijah took his chair close to the lectern, Aziraphale settled contentedly into the front pew. Edith, he knew, would not be joining him, occupied as she was wrangling children in biblical costume. He didn’t mind sitting on his own, however, it was pleasant to watch the congregants arrive and take their places, faces all aglow with holiday cheer. Shortly before the evening’s events were set to begin, Maddy slid in beside him.

“I thought I was going to be late!”

Comfortable enough to tease her, Aziraphale laughed, “You live upstairs!”

“I know, but I also have a son who chose today to really start caring about how he looks. I just spent an hour trying to style his hair into something that he agreed was ‘formal but also cool’. How do you spend an hour on hair that short?”

“Did you achieve ‘formal but also cool’?”

“Yes, apparently. Not really sure how it’s that different than usual, but he seemed happy enough.”

They grew quiet as Elijah approached the pulpit and began to address the gathered crowd. Aziraphale loved the Christmas Eve service, it was as much show as sermon. Elijah’s biblical readings were interspersed with Christmas carols from the choir. Then of course, right in the middle, came the pageant. The set, built and painted by the youth group had provided the back drop for the entire proceeding, but it came to life as the children traipsed in.

He had never enjoyed performing in the show itself but it was utterly charming to watch from the outside. Every stuttered line and caterwauling melody from a child dressed as sheep or shepherd was done in earnest. Only a few of the older children seemed embarrassed by their participation, but most of these had been given more important roles to help them buy into it. The kings strutted proudly in their cardboard crowns and Mary stared beatifically at the plastic face of her holy son, although Aziraphale had seen her at rehearsal the day before screaming at the boy who was playing the donkey.

Among all the little faces, in every group that came up to sing or recite dialogue, there was one clearly missing. Anthony was nowhere to be seen. As the pageant reached its end and the congregation applauded, Aziraphale began to panic, thinking he must have missed him. What would he say when Anthony asked how he’d been? He couldn’t very well say that he hadn’t even noticed.

But as the children dispersed themselves amongst the congregation, squeezing in beside their parents in the pews, he realized that Anthony was still missing. Elijah did his next reading and Ezra tried to make worried eye contact with Maddy. She did not seem concerned by her son’s absence, so Aziraphale forced himself to relax. Whatever Anthony was going to do, the time had evidently not yet arrived.

As Elijah finished reading from Luke 2, which he had no idea was quoting Aziraphale, he smiled at the congregation. “The next song you’re going to hear is actually a new one for me. It was requested by the singer and comes from an album entitled _John Denver and the Muppets._ ”

The congregation laughed.

Elijah held up his hands, “I know. I know. That was my reaction too, but this particular song is really quite something and I think it captures the message that I want you to take away from this evening. So, I’d like to welcome up our next singer. Tony, if you’re ready.”

Anthony came in through the side door, dressed in a freshly ironed pair of pants, shiny dress shoes, a bright red button down shirt, and a tie. Aziraphale had never seen him dressed this way, not since becoming human, and it was so precious that he caught himself pressing his hand against his heart. Very seriously, Anthony approached the church’s grand piano, settled himself upon the seat, and bent down the microphone so that he could actually reach it. In a clear voice he said, “This song is called ‘The Peace Carol’.”

There had been some muttering amongst parishioners when he’d first entered the room. Though Aziraphale couldn’t quite make any of it out, he suspected they were grumbling about special treatment. There were plenty of children who were learning piano, why did none of them get to show off?

The muttering died down as Anthony began to play, a sweet, almost melancholic melody emanated from the piano, offering a gentle background as Anthony began to sing.

“ _The garment of life, be it tattered and torn,_

_The cloak of the soldier is weathered and worn,_

_But what child is this that was poverty born?_

_The Peace of Christmas day._

_The branch that bears the bright holly,_

_The dove that rests in yonder tree,_

_The light that shines for all to see,_

_The peace of Christmas day.”_

On he went, instrument and voice together, each a perfect complement to the other. He sang in a way the other children hadn’t: voice powerful without screaming, melodic without being so soft it disappeared. There was a quiet confidence to him as he performed, as though the music had brought him the sort of peace mentioned in the lyrics.

The whole congregation had gone quiet, listening now with rapt attention to every note. When at last he finished, voice and the fading reverberations of piano strings dying off as one, there was a moment of complete silence. Then he stood and bowed and there was a round of applause, a bit too loud for a church service.

Anthony, who’d done the whole performance with sober faced seriousness, broke into a wide grin. The sudden change in his demeanor caused a ripple of charmed laughter throughout the assembly that Elijah was forced to shush as Anthony made his way to the pews.

The boy settled himself comfortably between Aziraphale and his mother, pressing against Maddy as she gave him a hug. When she released him, he scooted closer to Aziraphale so that he could whisper, “Was I good?”

Aziraphale took his hands and squeezed them, “That was beautiful, Anthony. Really. I’m more impressed every time I hear you. You’re so talented.”

At the compliment, Anthony seemed to glow. He looked as though he might float away. As he settled back into the pew, an older man who sat behind them, leaned forward and tapped Anthony on the shoulder.

“Your friend’s right, you know,” he whispered with a gesture to Aziraphale, “You’ve got a real gift. Don’t you dare stop working on it.”

Anthony nodded and tried to catch Aziraphale’s eye, likely to commiserate on how strange he found the old man. But Aziraphale’s his mind was busy elsewhere. For the first time he could imagine a future where Anthony wouldn’t need a guardian angel anymore.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know headcannons about Crowley and not knowing why you need two unicorns to get more vary widely. I tried to kind of split the difference here a bit. 
> 
> Next week they're off to New York.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Nothing even the realm of a warning for this one. 
> 
> It's New York weekend time!  
> (Sorry if this first half reads like a listy travel blog).

The Westwich train station was unusually bustling for a Wednesday afternoon, its west bound platform crowded with residents eager to head to the city. Aziraphale stood with the Clarks and their collection of weekend luggage, alternatively peering down the track for the sight of an approaching train and glancing back over his shoulder toward Anthony and his mother.

Maddy had requested an extended lunch break that day so she could drop them off at the station, giving her a chance to say goodbye and sparing the Clarks the long term parking fees they would have incurred by driving themselves. She stood now, on the platform steps, straightening her son’s hair and double checking that his backpack held everything he’d need. It was the first time, since she’d moved out of her sober living facility some two and a half years ago, that mother and child would be apart for more than twenty-four hours.

Anthony was making a big show of huffing and rolling his eyes. They were too far away for Aziraphale to catch most of the conversation, but he could imagine the phrase ‘It’s only two days’ had been uttered at least once. Still, when the train made an appearance on the horizon and everyone began to gather up their bags, Anthony leapt at her, giving one last big hug before running to catch up with the Clarks.

“Remember, let everyone off the train first, and stay close,” Edith told them. The first half of her advice proved pointless as no one was disembarking, the second half, however, was vital. The train was already quite packed. Aziraphale grasped one of Tony’s hands to keep him close as Elijah lead them through different cars and down endless aisles.

There were empty seats here and there, but usually only one at a time. When they did find two open seats beside each other, there’d be nowhere for the other two to sit. Edith suggested she and Elijah each take a child and sit apart before there were no seats left at all, but he kept doggedly onward.

They’d nearly reached the back of the train when Elijah let out an excited, “Bingo!”

Five empty seats, three facing two, sat seemingly forgotten in the final car. Aziraphale and Tony were ushered in as the adults began loading their luggage onto the overhead rack.

“Take what you want for the ride out of your bags, please boys,” Elijah ordered. They each unzipped their backpacks, Aziraphale pulling out a copy of _Murder on the Orient Express_ as Anthony unearthed the cherry red CD Walkman he’d gotten for Christmas.

By the time the conductor came around to take their tickets, the group was all settled in. It was a pleasant enough way to travel, although the Metro North Commuter train was far from the most luxurious locomotive Aziraphale had ever taken. After a few questions about how excited they were, they each took to their own activities. Edith had found a half finished book of crossword puzzles on a shelf back home, and she and Elijah put their foreheads together as they worked on it. Aziraphale let Agatha Christie transport him elsewhere as, besides him, Anthony fiddled with his music player.

He stayed content for roughly an hour before whatever he was listening to came to an end and the world outside their window began to change enough to draw his attention. Aziraphale had taken the spot by the window and now Anthony practically leaned across him just to get a glimpse.

Aziraphale chuckled. “Would you like to switch places?”

“ s’fine,” Anthony told him, as though he were perfectly comfortable sitting side ways in his seat and sticking his head between Aziraphale and his book.

“Oh, but I insist.” Aziraphale slid over, allowing Anthony to climb across his lap so that he could better stare out the window. His excitement was rather infectious and Aziraphale spent less of the last half hour reading than he did watching Anthony watch the world go by.

With each passing mile the already heavily populated area they’d started in became all the more urbanized and Anthony kept turning to Elijah to ask if they had reached the city yet.

“The last bit of the ride is underground. You’re not going to see Manhattan until we step out into it,” said Elijah, but Anthony asked him three more times just to be certain.

As promised, the train dove into darkness before coming to its final halt beneath the artificial light of Grand Central Station’s underground tracks.

It was a good thing Aziraphale had offered to switch places as Anthony would have run off in his excitement otherwise. Instead he bounced in his seat as he waited for Edith and Elijah to take their luggage off the rack and lead them into the city.

Edith looked at them very seriously as she double checked the zippers on their bags, “Ezra, I need you to keep a hold of Tony at all times so we don’t get split up. And you know your father’s beeper number just in case that does happen, right?”

Aziraphale nodded his assurance, took Anthony by the hand, and then off they went into the station proper. Anthony’s mouth fell open as they stepped into the main terminal. He could not seem to look in any one place, eyes darting around at all the people gathered there, gawking at aggravated New Yorkers and other gawking tourists alike.

Bending down, Aziraphale whispered to him, “Look up, Anthony.”

As he did, his eyes grew perfectly round. High above them the arched ceiling depicted a green night sky complete with a starry zodiac. Aziraphale had admired it when he’d visited back in the twenties when it was nearly new. They’d restored it somewhat recently and it shown now with the same old glory.

However, there were more people now than there’d been when the ceiling was first painted, and Anthony nearly walked into some of them as he strained to look.

“Stay close, boys. You can’t stand still in New York,” Elijah called. “Come on, the exit’s this way.”

As they stepped out onto the Manhattan streets Anthony literally gasped. He stared up at the buildings surrounding them and said to no one in particular, “It’s so tall.”

Aziraphale had to agree. He was a creature of the city himself, used to hustle and bustle, but if there was one way London did not measure up to New York it was vertically. Hand in hand they stared upward, as Elijah hailed a taxi to whisk them away.

* * *

The rest of the day passed in an enjoyable blur. They had gone to the hotel first, shuffled into the lobby where Anthony had whistled at what he clearly thought was the very height of extravagance. In a concession to affordability, the Clarks had opted for one room, giving Anthony the option of sharing a bed with Aziraphale or sleeping on a cot requested from hotel service. Anthony had no interest in cots. His newly acquired biological knowledge had not come fully equipped with an adolescent embarrassment over physical closeness and he was perfectly comfortable curling up with Aziraphale like they were two pups in a litter.

Even if he were old enough for such social taboos, the allure of the large hotel bed with its plush comforter and myriad pillows might have been enough for him not to care.

Beds assigned and bags unloaded, the family took turns in the bathroom, freshening up and changing into what Elijah referred to as their ‘nice clothes’. As far as Aziraphale was concerned, he never wore anything but. By the time they were out on the streets again, button down shirts hidden beneath the puffy insulation of winter coats, the December sun had nearly set. Hand in hand once more, they walked the blocks from their hotel to the restaurant by the theater where the Clarks had gotten reservations.

Aziraphale would have given up the rest of the trip just for that. He had not once, in nearly five years, had anything that could pass as fine dining. That was not to say nothing had been good. Edith could be quite a chef when she pulled out all the stops for the holidays, but the comfort of home cooking and the culinary heights that one could find in a metropolis did not scratch the same itch. He savored every bite, letting each taste melt on his tongue, still humming contentedly long after the others had finished.

It was a good thing he had enjoyed it while he could. Elijah had taken one glimpse at the bill and announced that the rest of their meals would occur at the hotel’s complimentary breakfast bar and food carts exclusively.

After they were all paid up it was a short stroll to the theater, or it might have been short if they had not passed through Times Square with all its crowds and distractions. Edith’s command that he hold Anthony’s hand at all times had seemed silly at first, something to do because it calmed her down rather than provided any actual safety. Among the lights, stores, advertisements, street performers, and sheer number of tourists however, Aziraphale had to hold on to him with a vice grip. Anthony kept stopping in the middle of crowds to stare at things or else began wandering off toward interesting store fronts. Aziraphale grasped his hand tightly to keep him close, mind suddenly filled with images of him alone and lost in the big city.

Despite all this, they made it safely to the _Neil Simon Theatre_ (spelled, oddly enough, in the commonwealth fashion). They stood in line, waiting with other excited theater goers for the doors to open up. Anthony bounced excitedly on his heels and Aziraphale beamed. He’d missed the pomp and circumstance of a proper show. Going to the theater felt a bit like going home.

Then open swung the doors and in went the crowds. The next few hours were a delight of melody and broad acting. So what if the _Music Man_ wasn’t one of his absolute favorites and he found its ending a bit too pat? Aziraphale loved every minute of it. When the show was over, the bows complete, and the audience filtered out enough to allow for actual movement, Aziraphale gave each of the Clarks a grateful hug to thank them for the gift.

Anthony talked the entire way back to the hotel. He shared every comment, question, and observation that he’d had over the past two and a half hours. Among these was his absolute certainty that he could have played Winthrop ‘easy’ if only someone had brought him to an audition.

Aziraphale could not confidently have told him he was wrong.

Back in the hotel room and changed into their pajamas, the pleasant exhaustion of a long day overcame them and they both fell asleep almost as soon as their heads hit their pillows. 

* * *

They had nothing scheduled for the 28th, and passed the morning window shopping, watching the ice skaters by Rockefeller Center, and meandering their way through Central Park. The hours spent outside should have chilled them to their cores but a few well-timed cups of hot chocolate kept them going. Around 11:00 they arrived at the expansive staircase leading up to the Metropolitan Museum of Art.

Aziraphale had been before, with the Clarks actually, a few summers back. It had been a brief visit, as he was sure this one would be, but he’d enjoyed it very much. They’d spent so long in Greek and Roman art that there hadn’t been much time for the European paintings on the second floor and he’d missed Asia and Egypt entirely. He tried to decide where he’d most like to spend the next hour before he was swept off to some other activity.

But then Edith smiled at him and said words he did not entirely believe. “Your father and I figured you might want to spend the rest of the day here. Do you think until dinner will give you enough time to see it all properly?”

“Until dinner…? Oh, you don’t need to do that. I wouldn’t want you all to get bored. And we haven’t even had lunch yet. I’m sure the food inside is overpriced and I know you were worried about the cost after dinner last night. I’m sure we can find other things to do as well that everyone would enjoy that would cost us less and-”

“Buddy,” Elijah said calmly. “This trip is your gift, don’t worry about the rest of us. Besides, your mother and I promised Maddy that we’d take good care of Tony. I’m sure she’d be happier to hear he spent hours surrounded by fine art than that we spent the whole day making him look at stuff we weren’t going to buy.”

“I won’t get bored, angel, honest. It’s the museum from that book you read me, isn’t it? If a couple kids can live in there I’m sure I can last a few hours.”

“Well,” Aziraphale said, nervous smile making its way across his face, “If it won’t put you out too much then I suppose, maybe-”

Anthony interrupted, rolling his eyes, “Jeeze, angel, let people do something for you for once instead of the other way around.”

Then he grabbed Aziraphale by the wrist and led the way up the stairs.

* * *

Visiting museums is an odd experience when one is 6,000 years old. It becomes something akin to looking back through a personal photo album, of smiling and remembering people and places that once held so much importance in one’s life. They walked through pieces of Egyptian ruins and he remembered visiting pharaohs and Israelites. They admired Asian art and Aziraphale remembered his first visit to Japan. The American Wing brought to mind the 1800s and Crowley’s long nap. In arms and armor and he recalled meeting Crowley in the middle of a forest. In the cafeteria he remembered how long ago breakfast had been.

They continued to zig zag through the halls in the afternoon, the Clarks taking ample advantage of the seating options when they were done looking at a given room’s displays. Anthony had begun the day sticking close to Aziraphale’s side. He circled him as they walked, asking questions about everything around them. As the hours wore on, however, he began to flag. Instead of orbiting Aziraphale he’d sit on a nearby bench with his head in his hands. Aziraphale assumed, at first, that this was the expected outcome for an over excited nine-year-old who’d spent the day on his feet.

Then, somewhere in European Paintings, Aziraphale overheard him talking to Edith. After a brief back and forth she got him to admit that he was suffering from a rather powerful headache.

Aziraphale froze. When he was smaller, Anthony had complained of headaches far more often, telling Aziraphale that his brain itched whenever he felt as though he’d experienced something before. Aziraphale had always known what it was, always recognized that they’d occur alongside something that Crowley would have known. But they’d seemed to subside over the past few year as the stories and music that had once given him intense Déjà vu had become familiar enough in this life not to bother him anymore.

But here Aziraphale had thrown him into a veritable ocean of new old experiences. He’d hurt him and hadn’t noticed.

Tearing himself away from one of many paintings depicting Madonna and Child, Aziraphale knelt by the bench where Anthony sat with Edith. “I’m sorry, I hadn’t noticed you were feeling so ill. We can go now. It’s alright.”

“You don’t have to leave. ‘m fine.” The boy was clearly lying. He’d gone pale beneath his freckles and he was slumped against Edith’s side.

“Anthony…”

“ ‘M fine, angel.”

Getting nowhere with him, Aziraphale cast an imploring glance in Edith’s direction. Instead of answering him directly, she gestured to Elijah.

“Dear, I think Tony’s a little worn out and dehydrated. Probably a bit overheated from keeping his coat on too. Can you take him down to the cafeteria and get him something to drink?”

“Of course!” Elijah gave his watch a quick glance. “It’s about four… why don’t the two of us meet the two of you out on the steps at five? If Tony’s still not feeling like himself by then, we’ll take a cab back to the hotel instead of hoofing it.”

“Really,” Aziraphale insisted, “We should go right now if he’s not feeling well.”

But Elijah just held a hand out for Anthony to help him to his feet then let the child lean against him as they walked out of the gallery. Aziraphale wrung his hands as they disappeared from view. Edith patted the bench beside her. After a moment of hesitation, Aziraphale sat.

“Honey, he’s going to be alright. He’s a little boy who spent all day on his feet. Give him an hour to sit and have something cool to drink. He’ll be just fine.”

“But he wouldn’t be feeling that way if I hadn’t dragged you all to every exhibit in the museum.” This was true whether his ails were caused by exhaustion or demonic memories. “I should have been more thoughtful. I…”

“Ezra.” Edith’s voice was firm and steady. Aziraphale grew quiet. “You are nothing if not thoughtful about the needs of other people. It’s one of the things your father and I admire most about you. But sometimes you spend so much time worrying about what other people want that you leave yourself out. It’s okay to put yourself first every once in a while.”

She gave him a squeeze and he smiled at her, although it was half-hearted. The saints and the angels in the paintings all around the room stared at him, reminders of his true identity. He had time that these humans never would; their experiences mattered more. And Anthony, with his one shot at the experience, he mattered most of all.

Edith sighed, correctly reading his expression if not quite guessing at the details. “Think about it at least and enjoy yourself now. You’ve got an hour whether you want it or not. And if nothing else, you’ve got to admit that Tony won’t rest if you try to leave early. He’s only going to relax if you have your fun.”

That, Aziraphale couldn’t argue, so up he stood and off he went to see if he could find himself in any of the paintings.

* * *

Tony was feeling considerably better. Elijah had set him up at a table in the cafeteria with regular refills of icy water until enough color had come back to Tony’s face that he’d decided they ought to split a giant cookie too. When that was vanquished (and Tony had had a chance to visit the bathroom), they stopped by the gift shop on their way out of the building.

He’d gotten some money for Christmas and spent time looking over the toys and puzzles in the children’s section. There was nothing there in his price range, mostly expensive wooden toys and books with pictures of paintings in them. The sort of thing rich parents would buy if they were worried their children weren’t cultured enough.

There was better luck to be had by the cash register, where Tony found a magnet with a pair of curly haired little angels. They’d reminded him of Ezra so he’d bought it. Now he stood by Elijah’s side out on the steps, sipping hot cocoa from a food cart parked on a nearby street.

“You think Ezra still had fun or did I ruin it?”

“Tony, you didn’t ruin anything. You can’t help it if you start to feel sick, so don’t go blaming yourself for that.” Elijah pulled his sleeve back so he could look at his watch, “Besides, if he were worrying the whole time, he and Edith would have been out here first.”

“I guess…”

Elijah squatted down, so that he was closer to Tony’s level. He didn’t usually like when adults did that, it made him feel like they were treating him like a kid. However, it was loud out on the busy steps of the Met and it was easier to talk this way, so Tony gave him a pass. “Is there something bothering you?”

“Not especially,” Tony shrugged. “I just… it’s his trip and I don’t want to ruin it by being a stupid little kid who can’t even walk around a museum without his head getting all fuzzy.”

“I’m sure he won’t hold anything against you.”

“I didn’t say he would!” Tony huffed. “Just… I’m his best friend and I don’t want to ruin stuff just cause I’m not as big as he is. I want to be enough.”

Elijah ruffled Tony’s hair, making him wrinkle his nose and pull his knit hat out of his pocket so it couldn’t happen again. Elijah chuckled. “Look, Tony, you can be his best friend without being able to do everything with him. Sometimes he’s going to want to do stuff on his own and sometimes there’s things he’s going to want to do with kids his own age.”

“What kids his own age? Keisha’s busy all the time and without her his other dance friends are never around. The only friend he’s made in drama club is his teacher and I don’t think he likes that youth group stuff as much as you want him to. I’m all he’s got.”

“Well, we’re working on that,” Elijah said simply. There was no time for further conversation, Edith and Ezra had finally appeared in the museum doorway.

“Oh, I’m sorry we’re late. Mother bought a jigsaw puzzle in the gift shop and the queue was quite slow. Were you waiting long?”

“It’s 5:04, buddy. It’s fine,” Elijah assured him, but he’d already lost Ezra’s attention.

“Anthony are you feeling better?”

“I’m FINE, angel. You don’t gotta make a fuss.” If he were forced to tell the truth, Tony liked the fuss a little bit, although not enough to let that worried look stay on Ezra’s face. So he grinned wickedly and held out his gift shop bag, letting it swing back and forth on his finger. “I got you something.”

“Oh?”

“But I don’t think I’m gonna give it to you just yet.”

Then Ezra’s brow furrowed and he pursed his lips and looked prissy instead of concerned, which was exactly what Tony had wanted.

* * *

They were all worn out by the time they’d made it back to the hotel. It was decided that they’d spend the evening enjoying the luxury of free cable and plush beds to lounge on. The boys took turns showering and getting into their PJs while the Clarks went to purchase food from somewhere cheaper than the room service menu.

Tony had showered first and so, while Ezra was washing up and the Clarks were out of the room, he took advantage of his lonesome to jump on top of the mattress, enjoying the sensation of bouncy springs beneath his feet. When the bathroom door creaked back open and Ezra reappeared in his tartan pajamas and a cloud of steam, Tony let himself collapse back onto the bed in a fit of giggles.

“I’m not going to ask what you were getting up to,” Ezra said, voice caught between scolding and amusement, “Are my parents still out?”

“Yeah, bet their back soon though.” He watched as Ezra fastidiously folded his clothes and tucked them into his backpack for their departure the next day. Tony had left his own clothing in a clump on the floor. “Do you want your present now?”

Ezra tried not to look eager as he said, “Oh, I suppose.”

Tony scrambled off the bed and ran for the hotel room closet where he’d stuffed his purchase into the pocket of his coat. Having retrieved it, he hurried back to where Ezra sat on the edge of their mattress and popped up beside him, sliding the bag into his hands.

He bit his lip with excitement as Ezra extricated the little magnet from its plastic trappings and put a hand to his heart.

“I got it cause they look like you, like you if you were baby. And they’re angels so I thought you should have it.”

Ezra pulled him close into a tight hug, “Thank you, Anthony. I’ll treasure it always.”

“You’re not _crying,_ are you? Angel, it’s just a magnet.”

“I’ll cry whenever I please,” Ezra said with a haughty sniff. “And it’s not just a magnet, it’s a touching gesture from someone I love and it’s very important to me.”

Tony was so pleased that he curled his toes and didn’t know what to do with himself. He changed the subject. “Did you like your trip?”

“Very much, yes. I’ve missed the theater and museums and the people one sees in a city. New York and London are worlds apart of course, but there’s so much culture in a metropolis wherever it is and whatever its character.”

“You feel like you fit here?”

“Better than London?” Ezra asked, almost offended.

“No. Better than Westwich.”

“Oh. Yes, I suppose, better than Westwich.” His eyes went distant momentarily, but then he gave Tony a smile and pressed the tip of his nose. “Of course, _you’re_ in Westwich, so that’s a massive point in its favor.”

Tony decided not to pick at that question any further. He was worried it might make Ezra start to feel homesick. Instead, the two of them set to figuring out how the television worked and, by the time the Clarks arrived, they’d mastered it.

The rest of the evening was spent in comfort. The Clarks, who were now scraping the bottom of the trip’s budget, had brought back a liter of Cream Soda and as many Lunchables as they could carry. It was a far cry from the previous night’s cuisine, but it was fun to stretch out on their beds in their pajamas and eat junk food in front of the television.

Ezra, still master of the trip, found the Turner Classic Movies channel and they watched some old musical called _Meet Me in St. Louis_ until it was well past their bedtimes. When the lights were off, the Clarks had gone quiet, and there was no noise but the sounds of cars and people still going about their business many stories below, Tony reached out and took Ezra’s hand. Someday, Tony would find a place where Ezra felt like he belonged, until then, Tony would try to be that place the best he could. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So the next two chapters are a bit... unusual. They're entirely from Tony's point of view and, well, I think I accidentally wrote a truncated version of a Beverley Cleary children's novel and put it in the middle of this fanfiction.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No extra warnings today- unless you had a very bad experience in your elementary school recorder unit.

April 2001

When Tony had first moved in with the Clarks, back when his mother was struggling through recovery, they’d taken him to visit a therapist once a week. His appointments had doubled when his mother first came back into his life and he’d been unable to ‘process his feelings of abandonment’ or whatever Dr. Amanda had called it.

He supposed it was a sign that he was doing well when, sometime around his eighth birthday, his appointments had dropped to every other week. When he turned nine they’d gone down to once a month for ‘maintenance visits’, and so it had stayed past his tenth birthday. Tony figured that, if he asked, his mother would probably let him stop going entirely. But Tony liked an audience, even when it was just one person and she’d been paid to listen to him.

“We’re getting them tomorrow when Mrs. Ferguson comes in for music class. We had to bring in money and order them like forever ago. Ryan said he forgot but I can’t wait. I was worried it’d be expensive but it only cost ten dollars and we get to keep them and everything.” Tony had been ranting about the upcoming fourth grade recorder unit for most of his appointment so far and saw no reason that he ought to stop. “There’s a work book too with different songs and everything in it. Ezra told me, because he got adopted right in the middle of the recorder unit so he did part of it. I think he donated his recorder away though because he definitely doesn’t have it anymore. I would’ve known if he did. I would’ve played it ‘specially back when we still shared a room all the time.”

“I can tell you’re really excited about this,” Dr. Amanda said with a warm chuckle. “Do you like Mrs. Ferguson?”

Tony, who was squatting sideways on his chair in the middle of restlessly adjusting his position, shrugged. “I like my regular teacher, Ms. O’Connell better. Mrs. Ferguson is real strict. She’s thrown kids out of class for messing around and she made Jenny Leo wait so long to go the bathroom once in second grade that she almost wet herself.”

“Have you gotten in trouble with her?”

“She doesn’t like it when I sing too loud over everybody else and sometimes I get a little bored in music when we sing the same thing over and over. I’ve only had to stand out in the hall a few times though and not even once this year.”

Dr. Amanda arched a brow, “But you think this unit won’t be boring?”

“Well, she’s finally going to teach everyone else to read music so they’ll all be able to learn songs faster. So then I won’t get bored.”

“Tony, I don’t want you to be disappointed if your class mates don’t pick things up as fast as you’re hoping.” Dr. Amanda’s voice had become very serious and Tony sat down in his chair properly. “ Some of your classmates will really struggle to learn to read music and others will only do it slowly. Most _adults_ can’t sight read music. From what I’ve been told you come to music pretty naturally _and_ are willing to practice a lot. That’s not going to true of most kids.”

“But the recorder is supposed to be easy. That’s why they start with it,” Tony said, leaning forward. “It’s not like next year when they let you choose an instrument if you want and do small group lessons instead of chorus.”

“Just remember that everyone learns at different speeds and, in music class, you’re on the faster side.”

Tony lay his arms flat out on the table, resting his chin thoughtfully on the surface. “Ezra learns stuff faster than anybody else and _he_ never gets antsy.”

“Well, Ezra and you are different people. Sometimes music comes easily to someone and sometimes sitting still does.”

Tony shrugged. He was still thinking about the shiny new recorder he’d be getting tomorrow but he didn’t have anything else to say about it.

“We still have some time left. If there’s nothing else you want to talk about we could play a game. Or, your mom has been telling me all about what a great musician you are. You want to show me what you can do on the old xylophone?”

“Little kids’ xylophones only have eight keys and no sharps. There’s not a lot you can play on something like that.” He glanced toward the shelf of toys and bit his lip for a moment, curiosity getting the better of him. “I could try it out I guess. See how much I could get out of it.”

In the next fifteen minutes he picked out a handful of lullabies and nursery rhymes, though he was proudest of his simplified performance of “Ode to Joy”. He was feeling very pleased with himself by the time his session was over and, as Dr. Amanda walked him to the waiting room, he promised that he’d bring his recorder next time to show her what he’d learned.

* * *

Despite the doctor’s best efforts, Tony’s expectations for the unit and his classmates remained quite high. He stared at the clock all morning and straight through lunch, waiting impatiently for 12:15 when Mrs. Ferguson would arrive with her cart and their weekly music class would begin at last.

She arrived two minutes early, cutting Ms. O’Connell off right before the end of a chapter during read aloud time. She sighed, sending all of the students back to their desks, where they sat staring excitedly at Mrs. Ferguson. You didn’t have to be a fan of music to be excited about getting something new.

Music was only one hour a week and Mrs. Ferguson was no time waster. Before Ms. O’Connell could even flee out the door, she’d was glaring around at all the children until even the loudest student grew quiet.

“This unit is one I look forward to every year,” she said so fiercely that it was hard to imagine her looking forward to anything. “For most of you, it will be the first time you ever pick up an instrument or read any music. It’s a magical experience and one I hope you will remember. BUT if this unit is to work you will all need to follow the rules. The recorder is a privilege not a right and before you even touch one I’m going to have each of you make a few promises.”

The children all nodded, not a one of them daring to look around at the others. Mrs. Ferguson reached for her own recorder, pulling it free from its candy red, cloth case. “Your recorder is not a toy. It is not a sword, not a drumstick, not a telescope. If I see you misusing your instrument it will be confiscated until the end of class. Your recorder does not touch your lips until I give you my say so. If I hear a stray toot you will lose your recorder for the rest of the lesson. I expect all of you to practice your recorder for homework. Music is a subject like reading or math and requires your time just as much. Do you all understand?”

This was followed by an awkward silence in which the students all glanced at one another, uncertain if they were allowed to speak. Mrs. Ferguson cleared her throat severely and they all shouted in unison, “Yes, Mrs. Ferguson!”

Then came the moment Tony had been hankering for. She called them up, one by one, and handed each students an instrument in a red sleeve and a music book to go along with it. Tony did not like his last name, it reminded him too much of his father, but he did appreciate how close it was to the start of the alphabet. He was the fifth to be summoned to the front of the room. He grinned, ear to ear, as he reached out to take his recorder then hurried back to his desk once it was in his possession.

The recorder itself, once freed from its case, was made from shiny white plastic and had his initials ‘A.D.’ written on the underside with sharpie. Mrs. Ferguson always called him Anthony, even though he’d never given her permission to do so. He didn’t care about that just now. Putting the recorder down on his desk, so that the temptation to blow on it would not overcome him, Tony dove into the work book. It wasn’t like the other workbooks they had, with the cheaply made waxy paper that was hard to write on. The outer cover was magazine smooth and the pages within were nice and thick.

But Tony was a bit disappointed anyway.

After an initial diagram of the instrument on the first few pages, which showed which holes to cover to make each note, most of the pages were full of the music for different songs- but none of them seemed very interesting. The first couple were just bars of the same note being repeated over and over again. After that it was all nursery rhymes and folk music that used as few notes as possible. There was _Hot Cross Buns_ again. Perhaps he should have listened to Dr. Amanda’s advice.

* * *

“Oh, rehearsals have been just exhausting now that we’re learning choreography. It’s hard balancing my stage managing duties and running up to participate in the big chorus numbers, but I am glad Mr. Velasquez let me do both. I would’ve chosen the stage managing but I do so enjoy dancing. Although, I mostly think he wanted to more dancers who could competently perform the ‘Waiter’s Gallop’. Most of the chorus is very enthusiastic but not able to do much beyond a simple box step,” Ezra explained to Maddy between bites of his dinner.

The Clarks had gone out for a date that night and, rather than eat alone, Ezra had opted to spend the evening with the Drakes. He certainly hadn’t made the decision based on the food. Tony didn’t mind that his mother’s culinary skills began and ended with boiling pasta and sticking dinosaur shaped chicken nuggets in the oven, but Ezra was usually more persnickety about such things. Still, he bit the head off a T-rex with the same prim politeness with which he approached anything else.

Tony, on the other hand, had inhaled his food as quickly as humanly possible. He was done already and now sat pouting. His mother had not excused him from the table.

“Tony, stop making that face. You’re not getting up from the table after five minutes, particularly not when you’re friend is here.” Maddy raised an eyebrow. “I thought you’d want to talk tonight. How did the recorder go?”

“That’s why I want to be excused. I want to go practice.”

Ezra smiled at him, “You must have rather enjoyed class today then. When I took those lessons I could not stand the noise. Those plastic recorders don’t capture quite the same tone as the ones from the Baroque period… Or rather then ones that are used in recordings of music from that era, I mean. Of course.”

Tony did not know how a period could be broke but decided not to question it. “I mean, I guess I enjoyed it. Mrs. Ferguson spent half the class yelling at us for stuff no one even had a chance to do yet. But I did like learning how to hold it and breathe right. I never had to worry about that with the piano or guitar. I think if you get the breathing the way you’re supposed to it, it shouldn’t sound half as bad. That’s part of what I wanna practice. So can I go practice, Mom?”

Maddy sighed and checked her watch. “Stay and be social for fifteen more minutes. Then I’ll let you go. Deal?”

He nodded. If he was going to be stuck sitting somewhere it might as well be with Ezra as he went on excitedly about his musical.

So Tony sat and he listened and he learned about the trials of Westwich High School’s production of _Hello Dolly!_. Then, when his mother gave him a nod, he cleared his plate, gave Ezra a hug goodbye and retreated into his bedroom to practice his new instrument.

He was at it all evening, until the Clarks came back, Ezra went home, and his mother knocked on the door to tell him to get ready for bed. He continued his work that weekend, spending the after dinner hours alone with the recorder until he thought he had the breath control down decently. Maybe not enough for the broke period but at least to the point where his mother stopped finding excuses to leave the apartment.

When the school week began again, he rushed through his homework each night so he could practice the finger techniques. Mrs. Ferguson had only taught them B and A during their first lesson, but there were diagrams in his workbook and he knew what they ought to sound like. So he did scales over and over again, until his fingers started to know what they ought to be doing.

By the time music class rolled around once again he was feeling rather full of himself.

Only there wasn’t any chance to show that he could do the whole thing. Mrs. Ferguson made them practice their breath control, taught them how to play G, began to teach ‘Hot Cross Buns’, realized that half the students had forgotten A and B, retaught those notes, then went back to ‘Hot Cross Buns’. That was the entire class. Tony hadn’t learned a thing.

At this point the sensible thing to do would have been to keep his recorder permanently in his back pack and save his spare time for the guitar, piano, and hanging around Ezra. Only Tony was curious now. He wanted to know just how much he could learn on his own.

So that evening, when his homework was done, he opened his recorder book once again and did not close it until he’d added ‘Au Clair de la Lune’ to his repertoire. The next night he learned ‘Lucy Locket’ and ‘Little Tommy Tittlemouse’.

Easter was that Sunday. He put the recorder aside for most of the day and spent it enjoying egg hunts and pastel wrapped candies. The only hot cross buns to be had were edible and made by Ezra which, as far as Tony was concerned, was the only way he ever wanted to experience them ever again.

There was no school the next week, they were off for April break. With his mother still at work, Edith still attending her education courses, and Elijah working on sermons and whatever else he did in his office, Tony and Ezra were left almost entirely to their own devices. They spent half the time together, playing board games, watching old movies, or simply talking. But when, inevitably, Ezra began to hint that he’d like some time alone to read, Tony would happily go off on his own, find a quiet space somewhere in the church, and spend hours dedicated to his new craft.

By Tuesday he knew ‘Hush Little Baby’, ‘Ode to Joy’, and ‘Jingle Bells’. By Friday he could do ‘Twinkle, Twinkle Little Star’, ‘Good King Wenceslas’, and ‘Camptown Races’. By Monday, when school started up again, he’d finished the entire book.

The recorder unit wouldn’t be over until school ended in June.

So he’d have to find a new way to entertain himself. His mother, over the past few years, had given him a few collections of sheet music from his favorite bands. Settling down beside his bookshelf, he pulled them out from among his Goosebumps collection. He began with _The Best of Queen_ , but decided he wasn’t quite there yet and set it aside for the Beatles. Their early music, from before they grew their hair long and started getting weird with it, would be doable. He just had to figure out how to make it sound good on recorder.

By Thursday morning, when Mrs. Ferguson and her cart arrived for music, Tony could do a passable ‘I Wanna Hold Your Hand’. He wondered if he’d get a chance to show off.

Class began with the children being called up to the front of the classroom to play in groups small enough that Mrs. Ferguson could pick out what errors they were making. Tony, his last initial doing well for him once again, was called up with the first five students. Mrs. Ferguson prowled around them as they played through ‘Hot Cross Buns’ multiple times.

“Britney the sound is wrong because you are holding the instrument wrong, do you see my fingers? Like this, hold it like this. There you go. Michael Cappelletti you are playing the recorder not the trumpet, there is no reason for you to be puffing out your cheeks like that. Anthony… Anthony that’s well done. I can tell you’ve been practicing.”

“I can-”

“A compliment is not permission to speak out of turn. Now, that’s enough from you all. Let’s have our next group.”

And so it went, four groups, one after the other all playing ‘Hot Cross Buns’ until Tony thought his brain would explode. When that pain had ended, Mrs. Ferguson announced they would learn a new song, one called ‘Au Clair de Lune’. That was when the trouble started. As she drew the notes out on the board and began to explain how the song went, Tony’s mind wandered.

There was a tile on the right side of the classroom that wasn’t the right color for the pattern. He stared at that a while, thinking about the builder who’d mess it up. Then he noticed a Pikachu shaped eraser on the floor. It had hardly even been used yet. If he could just reach it, it would be his.

He tried with his feet first, slinking down in his seat and reaching with the toes of his sneakers. When that wasn’t any good, he ducked down the next time Mrs. Ferguson turned her back to show the students the right way to hold their recorders. Still, he wasn’t close enough. On his final try he took the recorder with him, using the end of it to hook the eraser and pull it towards him. Triumphantly, Tony resurfaced only to find Mrs. Ferguson glaring at him with her arms folded. 

“Anthony, it seems you’ll be our first example.” She approached and held out her hand. Confused, Tony handed her the Pikachu. “Not that. The recorder. You’ve misused it; you’ve lost the privilege for today.”

For the rest of the lesson he was forced to play an invisible instrument. It was supposed to be a punishment, but he preferred it. There was no way she could know what he was playing now. He tried to figure out ‘Love Me Do’ instead of playing along with the rest of the class, and there was nothing she could do to stop him.

* * *

Ezra had very good hand writing. Tony had never particularly noticed before, had never bothered to notice, but handwriting was very important to him today and so he studied the homework strewn across Ezra’s desk.

_Darwin_

_The Beagle. Galapagos_

_Finches. Different beaks to fit different environments_

_Adaptive Radiation_

_“On the Origin of Species” 1859_

_Theory of Evolution: Organisms change over time as a result of changes in heritable traits._

Even the words he’d scribbled in the margins looked nice.

_Ask about this. Is it a joke? Seems like unfair mystery writing. Wrong clues given._

“Are you interested in my biology homework?” Ezra reentered his bedroom, a tray with snacks and beverages held out before him.

“Ah, nah,” Tony said shrugging. He had a request but he wasn’t ready to make it, so he settled on the floor beside the chess board where he had been losing to Ezra for most the afternoon. They’d started with checkers, which Ezra always called draughts and pronounced drafts, before getting out the chessmen. It didn’t matter much; Ezra beat him soundly either way. Tony didn’t really mind though. He liked watching Ezra’s face when he thought really hard about his next move, he’d wrinkle his brow and curl in his bottom lip. It was funny and endearing and worth losing for.

Losing was even more enjoyable now that there was a bowl of pretzels and a glass of pink lemonade. It might have been relaxing too, if he hadn’t been working so hard to come up with a delicate way to ask Ezra to commit a mild act of fraud. He worried about it through an entire game of chess which was, admittedly, not all that long the way they played it.

“We could try another game, if you’d like. I’m sure this must be losing its entertainment value for you. There’s _Cluedo_ … Oh, but that doesn’t really work with fewer than three people, does it? How about _Yahtzee_? Yes, I think that-”

“Can you forge a note for me?” Tony asked, deciding being blunt was the best course of action.

“Forge a… Anthony what on earth do you mean?”

“I want a note saying I can’t do music class for the rest of the year. You write like an adult. I’m sure you could do it.” Judging by his expression, Ezra was not buying into the plan. Desperately, Tony added more detail. “Or like you could make it from a doctor! Say my ears are sensitive and I can’t be in a room with too many recorders all at once. Say I gotta sit in the office or something on Thursdays.”

“Anthony…”

Tony knew that tone. He was going to have to beg. “Angel, please. Please, angel.”

He got onto his knees and clasped his hands together like he’d seen people do on TV, but Ezra’s face stayed pitying rather than helpful. He shook his head.

“I’m not forging notes so that you can skip class. I don’t even understand why you’d want to. I thought you were enjoying the recorder unit. What’s got you so upset that you’re trying to get out of it?” Ezra moved, coming to sit beside Tony instead of across from him.

Tony shrunk in on himself and shrugged. “I dunno. I just… The class is too slow. I figured it out already.”

“Have you tried speaking to Mrs. Ferguson? She always struck me as firm but reasonable.”

“Yeah, cuz she liked you. Every teacher likes you.” He stopped rolling his eyes to plead his case. “I tried talking to her; she said I was talking out of turn. Then I got in trouble and she took my recorder away until the end of class.”

“The first mistake was talking in the middle of things. Try asking before or after class, when you won’t be interrupting. Teachers are juggling a lot at once when they’re up in front of their students. She’s bound to receive you better if you show the respect of asking at the proper moment.”

“I guess,” said Tony, though he wasn’t at all convinced. He bit his lip and looked up at Ezra. “What if she still won’t listen?”

“Well, in that case… In that case you’ve just got to deal with it. There are times and places where the only option is to put your head down and do as your told.” Ezra sighed with the weight of experience. “There are times it’s worth putting up a fight but, I don’t think one hour, once a week, recorder lessons are a hill worth dying on. Do you?”

Tony said nothing because he didn’t think Ezra would like his answer.

* * *

May 2001

The next Thursday, five minutes before music class was set to begin, Tony raised his hand and asked to go to the bathroom. He didn’t need to go, but he knew that Mrs. Ferguson arrived a few minutes early and waited outside where she’d go over notes and grouse about things to any teacher who happened to walk by.

She wasn’t there just yet, so he took the opportunity to walk to the nearest water fountain. When he returned there was Mrs. Ferguson. He cleared his throat and approached.

“Anthony, it’s a good thing you got back before my class began. You know I don’t like students wasting a minute of my time.”

He ignored that, too intent on his own question. “Actually, Mrs. Ferguson, I wanted to talk to you? I, uh, I… I wanted to tell you why I got antsy during class last week? You see, I-”

“You got antsy because you weren’t paying attention.”

“Yeah, but I wasn’t paying attention because I-”

“Because you were being rude. I expect much better behavior this time. Is that clear?”

“Yeah, but I wanted to say that I can-”

“You can do better. Now, it’s time to start my lesson. I expect to see that better behavior on display.” She opened the door and rolled her cart away from him, leaving Tony standing alone in the hallway.

Ezra might have been the sort to put his head down and suffer through things but if Tony was going to suffer so was Mrs. Ferguson.

The moment he sat down at his desk, as the other students nervously eyed Mrs. Ferguson with their hands folded, Tony pulled out his recorder and made the shrillest toot he could manage.

The teacher strode toward him, fury in her eyes, and held out her hand. “That is it, young man. Give me that right this instant.”

Tony did as he was told but not without a few dramatic twists of the instrument before he laid it in her palm. Mikey C. snorted in amusement then turned bright red when Mrs. Ferguson looked in his direction.

The war had begun.

Today the students were learning to play the note E and the song _Lucy Locket_ , but Tony was learning how to do the most epic air recorder ever seen. Whenever Mrs. Ferguson turned her back, he’d put one foot up on his chair and jam out with his invisible instrument, head bobs, shimmies, and rock hands included where necessary. His classmates tried their best to stifle their giggles, but even a slight exhalation of breath was quite noticeable when one was holding a recorder to their lips.

Mrs. Ferguson turned, catching Tony in the act of climbing fully onto his desk midperformance. With one furious point she sent him to the hallway. He spent the rest of the lesson admiring the other fourth grade classes’ book projects which had been posted on the bulletin board outside their room.

It was there that Ms. O’ Connell found him.

“Tony, honey, what are you doing outside?”

“Mrs. Ferguson banished me.”

“What for?” Ms. O’ Connell was a kind and earnest, if sometimes ineffectual, teacher. Tony could talk to her, if he really wanted. He could explain why he’d gotten frustrated and acted up, and she’d probably work something out. She’d at least be sympathetic.

But Tony was at war now, and he was going to fight his battles on his own. He would tell Mrs. Ferguson what his problem was when she was willing to listen to him, until then he wouldn’t explain himself to anyone. He’d spent years as a selective mute. He could ignore one topic if he needed to.

He looked at Ms. O’ Connell and shrugged.

It was the same response he used when Mrs. Ferguson tattled on him and he got called down to Principal Kowalski’s office. 

And the one he gave to Mr. Conklin the school psychologist when the principal sent him there.

“Now Tony, you remember the things we used to talk about when we had our weekly visits during your first couple years of school. This is a safe place to share your thoughts. You remember the feelings chart. Can you tell me which of these emotions you’re having?” He gestured toward the chart. Tony had always hated the feelings chart.

But he wasn’t going to make a big deal out of that today. “I’m feeling pretty chill actually, Mr. Conklin. We could talk about friends or my mom or my dad even. I’m open.”

“Well then, could you please tell me why you made such a fuss in music class today?”

Tony looked at him and shrugged.

The school called home after that, so he was forced to shrug at his mother, Edith and Elijah. They’d all turned to Ezra, who’d shrugged at them more honestly, “He told me he found the lessons boring and he didn’t want to go to music class anymore. I’m not quite sure how that escalated into standing on the furniture.”

So he lost dessert for the rest of the week at home and recess for the rest of the week at school. He was a model child in every other respect and all the adults began to think he’d simply been having a bad day. Ezra, the only person who might have looked close enough to notice the truth, was two weeks out from opening night and so frazzled that he misplaced his glasses on top of his own head three different times.

On Wednesday, when Tony was back in Dr. Amanda’s office for his May visit, he avoided discussing the incident by sharing what he’d learned instead.

Then on Thursday, when music class began, Tony locked himself in a bathroom stall and refused to come out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As I said last week, when I read this back I felt like I'd written a children's book instead of a chapter of fanfiction.
> 
> I decided to run with that on my tumblr. Follow the link if you want to see some silly illustrations for the chapter:
> 
> https://demonicputto.tumblr.com/post/629065118650597376/for-this-weeks-teaser-i-thought-id-do-something


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again, no special chapter tags this week.

Tony had climbed up on the back of one of the toilets, so that no one could see his feet, and intended to simply disappear until an hour had passed and Mrs. Ferguson was gone from the classroom. But she’d noticed him missing, of course, and phoned down to office. They found him after a second grader returned to his class in tears reporting of a ghost singing in the bathroom stalls.

Of course just because they found him, didn’t mean Tony had any intention of leaving.

Mr. Conklin knocked on the door. “Tony, why don’t you come out so that we can talk about it, okay?”

“I’m fine here. Thanks.”

“Tony if you unlock the stall right now, you won’t be in any trouble.” It was the principal’s voice. Tony began to suspect that he’d taken things too far, but he’d made his decision and he was going to stick with it.

“I’ll come out when music is done, okay?”

“Not okay. You come out this instant, young man!” Mr. Kowalski shouted. This time Tony didn’t say anything. He just watched the gap beneath the stall, wondering if one of them would try to crawl underneath and drag him out.

The two men began to whisper which wasn’t particularly effective in the otherwise empty bathroom.

“He used to meet with you, right? What do we do?”

“I, uh, he’s never done anything like this before… Do you think we could make a deal?”

“You want us to negotiate with a fourth grader who’s holding himself hostage?”

“I mean, if he doesn’t want to go to music class, I could just let him stay in my office once a week. It’ll give me a chance to speak with him and remove the major stressor that’s causing all of this.”

“Fine. Fine.” Mr. Kowalski’s voice changed, growing louder as he now intended Tony to hear him. “You don’t have to go to music class if you don’t want to. You can go to Mr. Conklin’s office every Thursday instead. If it’s alright with your parents.”

Mr. Conklin whispered, “Just mother.”

“If it’s alright with your mother. For now, why don’t you just unlock the door and you can go with Mr. Conklin and we’ll figure everything out.”

Unsure if he’d actually won or not, Tony tentatively approached the stall door and unlocked it. The two men both sighed in relief at the sight of him.

Tony kicked at the tiles. “I’m pretty sure music is almost over anyway so I can just go back to class.”

They looked at one another and Mr. Conklin shook his head. “I think maybe, after all this excitement, we should just spend the rest of the day together, alright?”

It was alright by Tony. He was missing a spelling test and Mr. Conklin’s office had animal crackers, apple juice, and comfortable furniture. Mr. Conklin even let him wear a pair of chunky old head phones and listen to his collection of Disney tapes. So Tony lounged and snacked and felt rather pleased over the fuss he’d caused while Mr. Conklin made phone calls he couldn’t hear.

That pleasure ended when the 3:00 bell rang and Mr. Conklin told him to stay where he was. “Your mother should be here soon so you can just stay put.”

“My mom doesn’t get out of work until five. Mr. Clark usually picks me up.”

“Well, your mother is coming to meet with both of us, so don’t worry. She’ll be here.”

Tony, who had not been worried before, was most definitely worried now. He curled up in the plush chair and nervously watched the door, flinching when there was a knock.

“Come in, please!” Mr. Conklin said brightly, and he smiled gently as Maddy poked her head into the room. “Mrs. Drake! Welcome. Please take a seat by Tony and we can all talk.”

Tony’s mother didn’t look well. Her face was white and streaked with potter’s soil as though she’d rushed from work so quickly that she hadn’t bothered to wash. Tony had thought she might look angry but she seemed more terrified than anything else. He hadn’t seen her look that way since they’d both been with his father.

She looked at Tony and burst into tears. Mr. Conklin helpfully pushed a box of tissues across his desk toward her. “That’s alright, Mrs. Drake. This is a safe place; just let it out. We can talk when you’re ready.”

“I just… I just… I thought… I thought he was… I thought we were doing so well. I thought we were okay.” She was gasping as she grasped for the tissues, clutching them in tight fists as though holding them close would keep her grounded.

“All I did was hide in the bathroom,” Tony pointed out, uncertain how his actions had led them here so quickly.

“I didn’t realize how unhappy you were. I should’ve… I’m doing something wrong.”

“I’m not unhappy. I just don’t want to go to music class! I’m happy everywhere else. Honest.”

Mr. Conklin decided that he ought to be involved. He leaned across the desk so he could look more closely at Tony, “Can you tell us why you’re so unhappy in music class?”

“I don’t want to.” Tony was growing frustrated now. “Can’t I just not want to do something? Can’t I just feel some way about something without every adult I ever met swooping in to make me explain everything? Why’s it got to be such a big deal?”

“You know we only worry because we care,” said Mr. Conklin.

Tony ignored him to look at his mother. Her tears had subsided into hiccups but she was still twisting the tissues anxiously. Tony tried to make himself clear, “I’m. Fine. I just don’t want to go to music class.”

“Music is one of your favorite things. It has been since you were a baby.” Maddy had finally regained the ability to speak clearly. “If you were avoiding gym or math or something I could understand, but music? And you won’t even really talk to Ezra about it. How can you expect me not to be worried?”

“I _did_ talk to Ezra. He told you guys what the problem was. I’m bored. Music class is boring, especially now. And I don’t like Mrs. Ferguson and she doesn’t like me, so I don’t want to be in the classroom. I’m not falling apart. I’m not acting out because something is wrong somewhere else. I’m. Just. Bored. That’s all. Promise. You don’t need to be upset, Mom. You’re not doing anything wrong.”

She smiled at him, half way. “If that’s all it is, kiddo, then you are going WAY too far. Being bored sucks, but you can be bored for an hour a week. You get plenty of musical…. What is it? Enrichment. You get plenty of musical enrichment between Edith’s piano lessons and everything you’ve taught yourself with the guitar. You just got to deal.”

“Actually,” Mr. Conklin interrupted, pushing a piece of paper across his desk. “If you sign off, we can excuse Tony from his music lessons going forward.”

“For just the last month and a half of school? Or all the way through fifth grade?” Maddy asked.

“Well, it could be either. Mrs. Ferguson will still be the teacher next year if that’s the issue. And, if he doesn’t complete the recorder unit, which ends with a test to see where the children are on reading music and such, he won’t be able to sign up for beginning band next year. So his options would be limited to my office or chorus for fifth grade, but you like singing don’t you, Tony?”

He nodded, although without much certainty. He did like singing, but he liked instruments too.

His mother took the pen, pausing to look at him before she signed anything. “What is it you want to do?”

“What instruments are there?”

* * *

Tony was grounded until the end of school, which meant no friend’s houses, no movies, no restaurants and his mother had taken away his Gameboy. What it did not mean, apparently, was missing Ezra’s show. He’d been allowed to go, Friday evening, with his mother and the Clarks, to visit the high school and sit in the plush seats of the auditorium.

It had not been a sure thing of course. He’d had to earn it. He had to discuss strategies to regulate his behavior with Dr. Amanda and he’d had to prove that he could do it by getting a good report from Mrs. Ferguson. That Thursday he sat like an obedient lump in his seat. Playing exactly what was asked of him, exactly when it was asked of him, and doing absolutely nothing more. Mrs. Ferguson had promptly called home and given his mother a string of back handed compliments about how different his behavior had been this week.

Violins and saxophones had better be worth it, at least he knew that Ezra was.

All through the show, he sat and watched, enraptured by the high schoolers in their costumes and age makeup. Ezra wasn’t in it much, although Tony liked to imagine him running around back stage, the way he’d described, making sure props were ready to go and everyone was wearing the right microphones.

Then the big dance numbers would come and Ezra would appear, dressed in old fashioned clothes. He beamed through every step and, when the dances were over, Tony applauded as hard as he could.

When the show was over, Tony bought flowers from a fundraiser in the lobby and waited for Ezra to arrive. The actors all had to wipe their makeup off and change out of their costumes before they made an appearance, so only friends and parents waited, milling about anxiously and swarming Mr. V to give him their compliments on a show well directed.

Tony clutched his bouquet and hid behind his mother while the Clarks talked to him. He didn’t think he’d made a very good impression when they met at the mall, and he wasn’t eager to find out. The students began to arrive, wide skirts and top hats exchanged for jeans and t-shirts. The waiting crowd moved away from the teacher and toward the teenagers, telling them how well they’d done and how proud they should be.

Ezra was not among them. Tony tugged on his mother’s sleeve. “When do you think he’ll be out?”

“I don’t know. He’s got extra responsibilities, right? He might be awhile. Why don’t you go ask his teacher?”

Tony was about to refuse but thought being hesitant to talk to teachers would make his mother worry too much after recent events. So, head down, he approached Mr. Velasquez.

“Do you know where Ezra is?”

“Oh hey, it’s neighbor kid. Ezra is usually the last one out. Despite my telling him it’s not his job, he keeps cleaning up after everyone else like he’s their put-upon mother. How are you, by the way? Ezra was so worried about you on Monday, he almost quit the show. He said he hadn’t been paying enough attention to you.”

Tony looked up. “He did?”

“Yeah, he did. You doing alright?”

His concern seemed earnest, so Tony decided to answer. “Yeah. I was just being dramatic about music class.”

“Ezra told me, although he didn’t put it that way. I’ve worked with Lily Ferguson before, I can see how she might be frustrating. Still, Ezra says you’re quite the musician. I would’ve thought that’d make you a favorite.”

“She doesn’t even know. She won’t listen. I wanted her to. Lots of people tell me I’m good at music, but not anybody who actually knows, and she won’t even listen. So now I’m not even trying to show off anymore.” Tony hadn’t realized, until he said it, that that was bothering him as much as his boredom, if not more. He wanted affirmation from someone who wasn’t easily impressed. He wanted to know if he was as talented as everyone else kept telling him he was.

“Well, just don’t let her ruin something you love for you. And if nothing else, let spite drive you forward. Someday she’ll hear you play something and realize what she’s missed out on. Let her feel bad about that instead of you.”

Mr. Velasquez was alright. Ezra, Tony decided, was an excellent judge of people.

* * *

Tony was a very good boy going forward but he still hated music class. He hated pretending to learn things he already knew how to do and he hated the smug way Mrs. Ferguson looked at him, as though she’d somehow tamed him. He tried to imagine someday in the future, when he’d be performing with the high school orchestra or something and he’d look out and see her in the audience and she’d faint from sheer shock. But high school seemed so very far away and he was miserable now.

On Wednesday night, the last week of May, Roger Sherman Elementary held its end of year concert. It seemed a little unfair, to Tony, that something could be called ‘end of year’ when they still had to go to school for another two weeks afterward. If it had actually been the end of the year it might have been something worth getting excited over. As it was, Tony dragged himself through preparations like a man getting ready to go to work years after losing his passion for the job.

Still, he did what was asked of him. He put on his khakis, a button up shirt, and the shoes he only ever wore to church. He let his mother comb his hair with a wet comb so that even the stubborn strands would stay down, then he grabbed his recorder case and went to stand by the door.

“Are you sure you don’t want me to do anything else to your hair? We could spike it again if you want to, add a little fun to your ensemble.”

“It’s fine,” said Tony. “Mrs. Ferguson probably wouldn’t like it.”

“If you’re sure…” Maddy said quietly, gathering up her purse and leading the way out. She’d changed her clothes too, putting on a dress instead of her gardening clothes. He wondered if she wanted to impress the other parents. If she wanted them to think of her as something other than the mother of the weird kid who’d locked himself in the bathroom.

She didn’t open the car when they reached it, pausing to look at Tony, who already had his hand on the door. “Last chance to let Ezra come with us. I’m sure he’d love to see you perform.”

“It’s a school concert, mom, I’m not putting him through that.”

Maddy nodded, perhaps imagining the groups of caterwauling children that she would face over the next two hours. He’d have spared her too, if she’d have agreed to it, but it seemed there was some things a mother had to do.

Tony said goodbye when they arrived at the school. Maddy went off to sit on a folding chair in the gym, while he was corralled with the other fourth graders in one of the first floor classrooms. A parent volunteer had rolled in one of the video carts and put on some 80s children’s movie that no one was paying much attention to. The kids were all too busy eyeing one another in their strange nice clothes and nervously tooting their recorders. Tony hiked himself up on to a windowsill and stayed there, nodding vaguely when Mikey and Ryan came to talk to him.

“I’m gonna barf,” Mikey told them both, “I’m totally going to barf when we get up there. I’m gonna barf and then I’m gonna pass out.” 

“Don’t worry, Mikey. I’m sure you’re not that bad,” Ryan said. This didn’t mean much, considering Ryan was in a different class that year. He hadn’t heard Mikey play.

Tony gave more practical words of comfort, “The audience won’t know who’s playing what. It’s all just gonna run together. Only your parents will be looking at you.”

Mikey seemed relieved by this idea, but it just made Tony sort of tired.

They waited around, doing nothing of any value while the lower grades performed for the adults gathered in the gymnasium. It wasn’t until the third graders climbed up onto the risers, that the fourth graders were gathered up to stand at the ready in the hallway.

The door to the gym was left closed, so that no one could hear the nervous chatter in the hallway, but Tony could make out the muffled sound of the third graders working through “It’s a Small World” and “The More We Get Together”.

Apparently the third grade was going for a theme.

When they were done and the adults had applauded for an appropriate length of time, the third grade was led out and the fourth grade was led in. Tony was one of the first to enter, as the tallest kids were relegated to the back riser and needed to get there before the others.

This was no proper auditorium and he could easily see the audience, the bored parents shuffling about and checking their watches. Most of them had already seen their children perform and no longer cared to be there. The sight of children holding recorders only strengthened their desire to escape.

Tony felt none of the excitement that he’d felt the few other times he’d been in front of an audience. He managed a smile when his mother waved to him, but that was it. He wanted to go home too.

When all the fourth graders were in place, Mrs. Ferguson stood up from her piano and introduced them. She talked about what they’d learned that year and then turned to conduct them. They sang a few songs then played “Camptown Races” and “Ode to Joy” while the audience tried not grit their teeth and cringe.

Tony did it all. He sang, he played, he did the stupid choreographed movements, he even smiled when they told him to.

And he spent every moment wishing it all would end.

* * *

June 2001

On the following Saturday, when he got back from his piano lesson, Tony found Ezra and his mother having tea together in the apartment. They both looked very serious. His mother patted the seat between them.

“Hey kiddo, can we talk?”

“Am I in trouble again? I’m still grounded from the bathroom thing.”

“Nope. Promise.”

So he walked over slowly and sat down. Maddy looked at Ezra, and he spoke first. “Anthony, we’ve both noticed that, since you’ve been behaving better in music class, you’ve been a bit less yourself at home. You seem sort of tired and listless. I was feeling rather guilty for telling you just to go along to get along. I didn’t realize it would eat away at you so much.”

“And he came to tell me that and I’ve been feeling the same way. I saw you up on stage at that spring concert and I have never seen you so unhappy in front of an audience. I’m glad that you can control yourself but, now that you’re not acting out, you seem as miserable as I was afraid you were when the school called. So, this clearly isn’t working.”

Tony glanced from one to the other. “So you’re saying I can get in trouble again? I can stand on desks and stuff and lock myself in bathrooms and burn things?”

“First of all never burn things,” Maddy began, “And secondly, no. That wasn’t working either, particularly not if you’re serious about wanting to be in band next year.”

“I was thinking that perhaps we could find a way for you to be just a _little_ rebellious,” Ezra chimed in. “A way that’s less likely to put you in a difficult spot and more likely to put _her_ in a difficult spot.”

Ezra, as far as Tony could remember, almost never got in trouble. But, watching his eyes twinkle with mischief, Tony began to think it was less that he was always perfect and more that he was good at loopholes.

“What were you thinking?”

“The last two days of your music class will be taken up by solo performances. You’ll be tested, essentially, in front of your entire class. I remember because it was awful.” Ezra began.

Maddy stood up abruptly. “I’m gonna walk over to the Clarks house to see if they have any… iced tea and plausible deniability over there. I’ll be back soon.”

She left the apartment. Ezra leaned conspiratorially across the table. “Mrs. Ferguson will run each of you through your paces. She’ll start with a scale. Then call out a few random notes. Then she’ll ask you to play the most difficult song you can do without tripping up. She will mean one of the ones from the school assigned book. You will pretend you didn’t know that.”

Tony lit up “I’ll play something else.”

“Exactly! You play something completely unexpected, far more challenging than anything taught in class. Providing she picks you for the second day, we’ve two weeks to prepare.”

“But I always go early because of my last name.”

Ezra frowned. “True… well, I don’t suppose you’ve been practicing anyway?”

Tony’s grin was wicked. “Oh, I can play a few things.”

* * *

Ms. O’Connell’s fourth grade class was gripped with absolute terror. Ten of them would be facing their fates this afternoon, and they all sat now, hands clutching recorders, fingers flipping through books, wondering who would be the first among them to truly fail.

Britney Andrews survived her trial. She wasn’t exactly good, but the songs were recognizable and none of the sounds that came out of the recorder made anyone wince or giggle. Mrs. Ferguson nodded for her to sit back down.

Emily Applegate seemed to know all the finger motions perfectly, but she’d never quite mastered actually blowing on the recorder. There was more breath than actual tooting on the instrument. She looked like she might pass out when she sunk back into her seat.

It was Mikey C. who relaxed the rest of the class by performing so poorly that no one could imagine doing any worse. He spat and puffed out his cheeks and missed the finger holes. Mrs. Ferguson pointed to his seat. There was no nod. Tough, too cool, Mikey C. looked like he might cry.

Janine Daniels went next and was, by far, the most talented of the first four. Mrs. Ferguson smiled as she wrote something down into her grade book and actually gave a word of encouragement. “Very well done, Janine.”

Then, “Anthony Drake, you’re up next.”

Determined not to give away his plan before the right moment, Tony trained his face into a look of sober respect as he approached the front of the room.

“You’ve left your book at your desk.”

“Oh, I’m sorry, Mrs. Ferguson. Do I need it?”

She raised an eyebrow. “Not if you think you can play it all from memory.”

This was important, it would make his final move more plausible. Still, he needed to keep her in a good mood. “I’d like to try, if it’s alright.”

She nodded, adjusted her glasses, and looked at the paper in front of her. “Please begin by playing the scale three times.”

He did. He stopped. He looked at her.

“Now, please play each note as I say it: A, E, G, D, F, C, A, E, B.” She wrote something on her paper when they had finished. “Now, please play your song of choice.”

For the other students she’d gestured to their song books, but Tony had no book and so, technically, the expectation that the song came from there was gone.

Tony raised his recorder to his lips.

A lot of thought had gone into this. It had to be something challenging enough to blow her socks off, of course, but it couldn’t be just any difficult song. He had to be able to do it easily enough without passing out. Also, it had to accurately capture the emotion of the moment or else what was even the point?

He’d tried “Bohemian Rhapsody” but he kept messing up at the Galileos and “Don’t Stop Me Now” was so fast he kept running out of breath. His final choice though, he thought worked rather nicely.

Tony closed his eyes and began to play. If you played it just right, the recorder could sound less like the shrill gasps of a dying bird and more like a sweet voiced instrument. This was not a sound that any of his classmates had really achieved, but Tony played gently. _D-G-A A-A-B_ breath _D-G-A C’-B_ breath _D-G-A_. His classmates were silent. He had gone well past the point where it was clear that he’d gone off book and Mrs. Ferguson hadn’t stopped him yet.

Again, Tony thought how cool it would’ve been if he’d mastered “Don’t Stop Me Now” for this, but there was nothing to be done about it now.

He finished the song, lowered the recorder, and looked at his teacher.

“Anthony… What was that?”

“Queen’s ‘I Want to Break Free’.” They stared at each other, both faces kept still as masks.

Mrs. Ferguson nodded. “That was exceptional. You may sit down now.”

Tony enjoyed the looks of awe on his classmates faces as he took his seat.

* * *

When the bell rang at the end of the day, and the students rushed to grab their bags from their cubby holes, Tony was on the moon. The moment music had ended and Ms. O’Connell returned, the class had erupted into talk. Ms. O’Connell had managed to calm them just long enough for Mikey C. to tell her, “You’ll never guess what Tony did in music class!”

She’d looked horrified for a moment but, as the other students explained it, she began to smile, and all he had to do was sit there and let it wash over him. Even now, an hour later, they were still complimenting him, asking him how he’d learned it, asking him who Queen was anyway.

Tony could not stop grinning to himself. That was until he walked out the door and saw Mrs. Ferguson waiting. “Could we step into the classroom for a moment? I’d like to talk to you.”

He nodded, nervous, and followed her back inside. Ms. O’Connell took the hint and cleared out, leaving them alone. Mrs. Ferguson did not speak, and he began to wonder if she expected him to say something first until she finally cleared her throat.

“I do not often apologize, particularly not to my students, but I think I owe you at least that much. Looking back, I can tell there were times you tried to speak with me and I did not pay you enough attention. That is not to say that your behaviors were the right way to handle the situation but I am at fault as well. I am sorry. I should have listened.”

Tony gawked at her. He had not expected this and did not know what to say.

“I hope that I have not frightened you away from music lessons next year. Band is taught in small pull-out sessions, that I think would be a better fit for you than a full class.”

This, Tony could talk about. “Yeah, the main reason I stopped acting like a brat is ‘cause I want to be in band next year.”

She almost smiled. By her standards, the expression might actually count. “Have you considered an instrument?”

“Nothing in particular. I mean, I already play piano and guitar, but those aren’t in band I guess.”

“No, they’re not. If it’s all the same to you, I’d like to suggest the violin. It’s often considered one of the most difficult and you clearly need a challenge. They can be expensive, but the school district has a fund if your family needs assistance.”

“Cool,” said Tony, uncertain what else he should say. His eyes flicked toward the door.

“I’m sure you’re itching to leave but there’s one more thing I’d like to discuss,” she said. “Have you ever been to the Fourth of July celebration they hold at the town green?”

He nodded.

“Well, they’re planning a talent show this year. They’re auditioning adults, but they’re limiting child applicants to those who’ve been suggested by the district. I think to avoid parents complaining about their perfect children not being chosen. Either way, if you’re that good on a new instrument, I imagine you do quite well on guitar. Would you be interested?”

“Definitely!”

“Good. I hope that serves as a proper apology then. Have a good afternoon, Anthony.”

Tony thought that maybe the recorder unit had been his favorite.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More silly pictures for this chapter: https://demonicputto.tumblr.com/post/629704794264813568/tony-and-the-recorder-war-part-2
> 
> If you want to hear “I want to break free” on recorder: https://youtu.be/b9HzTDemzN4
> 
> Next week I might be a bit late in posting as I'll be super busy on Wednesday.


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No particular warnings this time around, but I do have a few notes.
> 
> This and the next chapter take place mostly on the Fourth of July. For those of you not familiar, it is a holiday celebrating the United States' independence from the British Empire (which is why it's also called Independence Day). The holiday is traditionaly celebrated with back yard cookouts and fireworks (usually town run, but the laws on that vary by state). 
> 
> Westwich's Independence Day celebration is a combination of actual Fourth of July celebrations and yearly nonholiday based town fairs that I remember from growing up. Consequently, it is bigger than anything I've actually experienced. There might be other Americans who have experienced a Fourth of July like this, but I felt like I had to be honest. I never had anything this fun.

July 2001

It was past 9:30 PM and Aziraphale and Edith were still baking. They’d been at it for nearly the entire day, stopping only for meals and bathroom breaks. They’d planned it all down to a science, figuring out how best to use their time and limited oven space to get as much made as possible. Westwich’s Independence Day celebration would begin the following afternoon and the Methodist church had rented a spot along the street reserved for vendors. The plan was to sell baked goods as a fund raiser, but there had been fewer volunteers than expected and so the Clark family and stepped up to fill the need.

Presently, Aziraphale sat at the kitchen table, placing cookies into their own individual wax paper bags and then placing those bags into baskets. It had been boring at first but, seventy baked goods in, his hands seemed to move on their own leaving his mind free to wander. He was looking forward to the next day’s activities- inevitable cracks about his accent aside. There’d been good food last year and the fireworks had been simply marvelous. More than anything he was excited for Anthony. The boy had been talking about the talent show for weeks.

They planned to spend the whole day together, walking around the fairgrounds, eating until they were stuffed, trying out the handful of questionable carnival rides rented by the town for the occasion, and simply enjoying one another’s company. Yes, Aziraphale was very much looking forward to tomorrow. The weeks that followed, not so much.

Elijah popped his head in, “Hey there, you two need any help or am I still banned from the kitchen?”

“Yes, actually, you can help,” Edith said. “Ezra and I are nearly done. Could you be a dear and start cleaning the dishes?”

“After all your hard work, how could I say ‘no’?” He swept into the room, kissed Edith on the cheek, and took up his station by sink. “Do you think you two made enough?”

“More than enough. And we got a little creative too. It’s mostly chocolate chip cookies and brownies with red, white, and blue sprinkles, but Ezra suggested we make a higher end option. Look at these cute little sweet rolls we made! Ezra said they were popular in the late 1700s, so it’s just the right time period. What are they called, Ez?”

“Chelsea Rolls, they were invented at the Chelsea Bun House in London. I, er, learned about them on a field trip when I still lived there.” He was, of course, lying through his teeth. He’d learned about them by visiting the Chelsea Bun House and eating far too many of them.

“He found the recipe online and printed it out for us. I never would have thought to look it up there. What am I going to do without you, Ez? I’m going to miss you so much!” She brushed flour from her hands so she could bend down and hug him.

Over his shoulder, Elijah called out, “You’re only going to miss him? What about me? I’m going on the Youth Group Camping Retreat too.”

Edith rolled her eyes but went over to hug him from behind. “Of course I’ll miss you.”

“And I’ll be missing you right back, unlike Ezra who will be having so much fun he won’t even know that time is passing.” Though said to Edith, these words were clearly for Aziraphale’s benefit. He’d agreed to go on the Youth Group Retreat but he had not agreed to enjoy it.

* * *

It had taken half an hour to organize the car for the five minute drive. Finding a way to position every basket and plastic wrapped plate of baked goods so that they wouldn’t go flying every which way had been a careful feat of engineering. By the time they arrived at the church’s rented table near the Westwich Green the day was just beginning and Aziraphale already felt exhausted. When he saw Reverend Harvey and a few members of the Youth Group already there, he felt more exhausted still.

He had nothing against the Youth Group in general or any of its members in particular, but he never felt at ease around them. It was something about the overly confident way they discussed the Lord, the way they looked at him and assumed total agreement, that put him in mind of the denizens of heaven and all their expectations. Or at least that was true for the active members. The teenagers who showed up for group only during Sunday services either shared Aziraphale’s nervous, eager to please energy, or looked like they’d prefer a trip to the dentist.

This morning, however, it was only the most active participants who’d come to help the church set up their table. Assisting Reverend Harvey to erect an awning borrowed from a congregant were brother and sister duo Josh and Amy Brown. Both possessed shiny teeth, shiny hair, and an intense love of God. Had they been brunette rather than blonde, Aziraphale might have suspected Gabriel of trying to reproduce. Affixing a paper sign to the front of the folding table that was acting as the church’s stall were the curly haired Kyle, who was more interested in getting close to Amy than to God, and Lisa, who’d ended a ‘Goth Phase’ after she found Jesus at last year’s retreat. Aziraphale wasn’t entirely sure what a Goth Phase was, but from a distance he’d observed her transformation as involving trading out black t-shirts for pink and reversing the direction of the cross necklaces she’d wear on Sunday mornings.

Also present were Heather Fielding and Aaron Mueller whose earnest faith generally caused them to treat others kindly and regularly volunteer. Unfortunately, they were the quietest members of the group and were easily overlooked.

The Youth Group members waved as the Clarks’ minivan pulled up beside them and they hurried to help unload baked goods as soon their current tasks were finished. Josh gave Aziraphale a toothy grin, falling into step beside him as they walked from car to table. “Are you gonna help us man the church’s spot this afternoon?”

“Ah, I hadn’t been planning on it. I saw the baking as doing my part and I’ve already promised to spend the day with Anthony so I, er…”

Anthony, guitar case slung over one shoulder, wedged himself between them, “You guys get him for two whole weeks. That not enough for you?”

To Anthony’s obvious chagrin, Josh laughed. “You don’t need to be jealous, I was just asking.”

Once the car had been emptied, the guitar had been stowed beneath the baked goods table, and Edith had driven off to park it in the designated area, Anthony tugged on Aziraphale’s sleeve. “Come on, angel. I gotta go tell the talent show people that I’m here.”

“I think we ought to tell someone before we just disappear for the next few hours.” Maddy had gone with Edith and the car, which meant Aziraphale was forced to wait awkwardly by Elijah’s elbow while he finished a conversation with the youth pastor.

“Yeah, I’ve been looking forward to the trip for months. Thanks for switching with me so that I can go. I want to be there for Ezra’s first year now that he’s old enough. You’re excited too, aren’t you, buddy?”

“How could I not be?” Aziraphale said hastily. “Father, may Anthony and I go off on our own now?”

Elijah dug into his pocket and pulled out his wallet, thumbing idly through it before handing Aziraphale a handful of bills. “That’s to last the both of you all day, alright? That’s lunch and dinner and whatever else you want to spend it on. But make sure it isn’t all gone so early that you both end up hungry, alright?”

“Right, er, thank you. We’ll pop back from time to time to check in with everyone. Goodbye!” Before they could leave, however, Anthony turned back around and addressed the Youth Group at large.

As he opened his mouth, Aziraphale braced for what he feared might be something rude, but all the boy said was, “Radio hits or classic rock?”

After blinking at one another in confusion the Youth Group voted radio hits. Anthony nodded, thoughtful, then seized Aziraphale’s hand to drag him off into the thin morning crowds.

The celebration, if it were anything like last year, would be teeming with people around nightfall. The talent show was set to run through dinner, with fireworks to follow, so if you only intended to stay for an hour or so that was the time to arrive. Just now, while the stands were still going up and the smell of hot dogs and fried dough had yet to pervade the air, there was hardly anyone around who wasn’t working.

This made their walk down the main thoroughfare to the Westwich Green a particularly easy one. The precise center of town, or what had once been the center of town back in the Colonial Period when most of Westwich was farmland, was marked by a wide open green. The grass here was kept close cropped and well fed. By the evening it would be overrun with picnic blankets and by tomorrow morning it would be in desperate need of care, but just now it was lush. At one end of the Westwich Green stood a gazebo of impressive size which had been repurposed as a stage for the day’s activities. Just now a harried looking member of the parks department was listing numbers into a microphone for the benefit of a technician adjusting speakers.

Off to one side, a table had been set up and a woman with a nametag leaned, forehead in hand, over three different clipboards. In front of her were a trifecta of signs labeled ‘Talent Show Check Ins’, ‘Raffle Prizes’, and ‘Auction Winners’. Her exhaustion was replaced with a bright smile when she looked up and saw Aziraphale and Anthony approaching.

“Hello boys, what can I do for you?”

Suddenly shy, Anthony turned red and leaned in close to Aziraphale’s side. Aziraphale gently nudged him forward. The boy swallowed heavily, “I’m, uh, I’m in the talent show. My music teacher signed me up before school ended. I got this in the mail.”

He reached into a pocket in his shorts and pulled out a little postcard. Her smile turned from polite to relieved as she took it from him. She lined it up against one of her clipboards to compare the information. “Looks like everything is in order, Anthony. The talent show will be starting at six ’o’clock this evening and going until just before eight when the fireworks begin. We’ll be announcing the winner of the $100 prize after the fireworks are over.”

“A hundred dollars? I never seen that much money! Mrs. Ferguson never even told me there was a prize.”

“Well, doesn’t that just make this all the more exciting?” The woman asked, voice just the right side of patronizing. “Now, do you have any questions for me?”

“Um, are they gonna announce my name? Cause if they are I want it to be Tony ‘stead of Anthony.”

“We can do that. Anything else?”

“Do the judges like classic rock or radio hits better?”

She pursed her lips. “I don’t know about that. Our panel is mostly local business owners, but there’s also the applause-o-meter to take into consideration. I’d play whatever you like best and not worry so much about what everyone else thinks.”

When they’d walked out of her ear shot Anthony scoffed. “It’s a talent show; the whole point is what everyone else thinks. ‘Snot like I’m composing a master piece, I’m trying to get people to clap a lot.”

“She might still have a point yet. You might perform better if you’re doing something you like,” Aziraphale told him.

“I guess. But I think I’d still probably be better off with something people know from the radio instead of something from my favorite old bands. I’ve just gotta find a way to… to… to really get into it. Find a way to feel everything, you know?” They settled down on a bench to rest a moment and watch stalls start to open up.

“Well, do what you think is best, so long as you’re enjoying yourself.”

Anthony grinned at him, “I will. Trust me.”

* * *

The fair rides had been set up some distance from the green in the unused parking lot of one of the district’s elementary schools. By late afternoon there were sure to be lines so long that the experience simply wasn’t worth it, so Aziraphale and Anthony arrived early. There were only three of them, all relatively small, as they were designed to be transported from town to town and set up as needed.

The Ferris wheel was the most enjoyable, if only because it moved at a reasonable pace and gave a rather lovely view of the street fair from its zenith. The Scrambler, however, Aziraphale regretted as soon as he got on. The large mechanism in the middle spun in one direction, while the seats spun in the opposite. Why any human being would choose to experience such a sensation was beyond him. He spent the entire time gripping the safety bar and willing his breakfast to stay in his stomach where it belonged. Anthony, however, dismounted the scrambler with the same dizzy smile and uncoordinated gait that Aziraphale had seen Crowley wear when drunk. Apparently he’d enjoyed himself.

The Dragon Wagon Roller Coaster pulled off the remarkable feat of displeasing them both. Despite its grandiose name, the ride consisted of a short loop with very mild hills. For Aziraphale it was too much motion so soon after the Scrambler. For Anthony it was far less fun than it looked. He folded his arms and looked unimpressed, as the five year old in the seat in front of them threw her hands in the air and screamed.

“Well, that was lame,” Anthony announced to the world after they had dismounted, “I gotta get my mom to take me to a real theme park. I need to experience a real roller coaster.”

“Might I suggest you ask her to take you sometime in the next two weeks when I will not be present to share in the experience?”

He’d said it in what he’d intended as a joking manner but Anthony grew very quiet and then changed the subject. “What do you want to do next, angel? It’s about lunchtime. We could get something to eat.”

The thought of food just now made Aziraphale’s stomach sour. He shook his head. “Could we do something tamer for a moment and then think about lunch?”

Anthony rolled his eyes but nodded.

While they’d been occupied with rides, the street fair had built up a good bustle and had taken on the expected scent of frying food. Trying to ignore it, Aziraphale followed Anthony to a tent with a homemade sign labeled ‘Sand Art’. Beneath that, in small writing were the words ‘Sponsored by Temple Beth Shalom of Norford’. Westwich had no Jewish houses of worship within its borders, an artifact of a time not long enough ago when realtors had refused to sell to any type of minority. It was unsurprising, then, to see a Norford temple present at the street fair. Westwich had its own small Jewish population now and most of them attended services in the neighboring city.

‘Sand Art’ whatever it was, appeared to be a well-chosen fund raiser, as appealing to children as the Methodist baked goods. A tiny swarm of elementary schoolers were gathered around bins of technicolored sand and were happily spooning some into bottles of various shapes. It actually looked rather relaxing.

“Ezra!” He glanced up in surprise. Sitting beside a pile of plastic containers, helping to pass them out to paying customers, was Rachel Bateman. She beamed as she waved at him and hopped up to give him a hug. “I was hoping I’d see you today, but I didn’t think it’d be so early!”

“My family’s church has a stand as well so we arrived early to help set it up.” Noticing Anthony frowning by his side, Aziraphale added. “The two of us are making a day of it. We were thinking of trying this sand art business.”

“Right, I’m still on the clock.” She sat back down and gestured to the plastic bottles on display. “So, Tony, it’s $1 for the smaller bottles, $3 for the medium size, and $5 for the really big ones. Do you see a shape you like?”

Anthony, who’d made strides toward accepting Aziraphale’s other friends this year, was polite, “Could I have one of those owls? You wanna do this one together, angel?”

“Certainly.” He didn’t say that he’d feel bad doing one on his own. Even by human standards he was clearly too old. Aziraphale let Anthony lead the way to the sand, pausing to speak more to Rachel before he followed. “Are you helping out here all day or will I see around?”

“I’m working sand art until dinner. Keisha said her family barbeque will be over by then so she’s going to come hang out. We’ll see if we can find you.”

Aziraphale smiled at her and went to join Anthony. He didn’t ask after Molly who, he’d previously been informed, had gotten herself a boyfriend and promptly abandoned all other relationships.

Anthony’s nose wrinkled as he carefully studied the colored sand laid out before him. There was no subtly among the options. Every color came in the brightest shade possible, even the black seemed aggressively black, the white aggressively white. This seemed to disappoint Tony who frowned at his empty, plastic owl.

“What’s the matter, dear?”

“I wanted to use, like, tans and browns and stuff… Everything’s neon.”

“I suppose tan isn’t a particularly exciting color for sand considering that’s its natural form. Besides, isn’t red your favorite color. They have that.” Tony shrugged in a fashion Aziraphale had learned to read, not as dismissive, but as a place holder for feelings he couldn’t or wouldn’t share. Aziraphale changed tack. “They’ve yellow and white, those are in the same family as tan.”

“I guess,” said Tony, who spooned yellow sand into the owl until it’s feet had filled up. “You like any of the other colors, angel?”

“The blue is a rather lovely shade, I think. Not the pink though. It’s far too abrasive.”

For whatever reason, the clouds of gloom that had hung over Tony just a moment before cleared. He began to smile and chat as they worked together on the simple little art project. When they’d finished, and plugged the top up with the required stopper, he beamed at the owl before turning to Aziraphale. “I think he came out pretty good!”

It was only a cheap plastic container with streaked layers of color within it, but it had been a pleasure to create so Aziraphale agreed with him. There were children all around, clambering for their spot, so they quickly vacated their chairs and made their way back toward the street. As they passed Rachel’s post, Aziraphale waved. To his surprise, Anthony stopped.

“Hey. You like classic rock or radio hits better?”

Rachel only let herself look confused for a moment. “Definitely radio!”

Tony nodded, serious expression almost comical on his little face. Then he grabbed Aziraphale’s hand and dragged him off into the growing crowd.

The Scrambler’s ill effects had faded and Aziraphale was feeling rather famished. Luckily, there was no shortage of food available. Deciding they really ought to start with something recognizable as a meal, they got themselves in line at a stand serving hamburgers. There was nowhere good to sit, so they settled themselves on the curbside in the partial shade of a postbox and made the best of it.

The burgers had only been a placeholder really, something they could report back to their parents before spending the rest of the day eating more delicious things of even lesser substance. The first of these treats was fried dough, a confection made of half-risen bread dough thrown into a fryer then doused with powdered sugar. They split one between them, walking side by side and pealing pieces off until both their faces and fingers were covered in oil and sugar. Aziraphale requested a napkin from a stall they passed to clean himself off.

Anthony used his shirt.

There were games next, most of which they lost. Rings failed to make it over spikes, balls missed milk bottles, darts flew far from the center of targets. Neither of them minded much. Most of the prizes were cheaper than the cost of entry. It was the act of playing that mattered, the giggling over their failures, the cheering each other on.

They meandered from stall to stall, slowed by good food, the hot sun, and enjoyment of one another’s company. Anthony paused and pointed, “Hey look, angel. Ducks.”

They weren’t real. A child’s wading pool had been set up at one of the stalls, a fleet of yellow, rubber ducks bobbing happily upon its surface. A woman, about Edith’s age, sat beside it. She waved at Tony with recognition that surprised Aziraphale.

Anthony waved back. “Hey, Mrs. Rockwell.”

“Hi, Tony! It’s nice to see you today. You haven’t come over to play with Ryan for a while.”

Ah, the mother of one of his friends then.

“I, uh, I kind of got grounded for most of the end of the school year.” Looking for a way to change the conversation he turned to Aziraphale. “This is my friend Ezra. He’s in high school.”

“It’s nice to meet you, Ezra. Are the two of you interested in our duck matching game? We’re raising money for the Westwich PTA.”

“That sounds intriguing,” Aziraphale said. “What do we have to do?”

“All you’ve got to do is choose two ducks and look on the bottom. They’ve got colors drawn on the underside. If the colors match, you win one of our prizes.” She gestured to the table beside her. It appeared that there was a ranking system of sorts. Two blues, which must have been common, entitled the winner to a small bag of penny candy. Two greens, you walked away with some cheap toy, a plastic harmonica, a pair of disguise glasses, something of that ilk. Two reds, however, and you won a Beanie Baby. Exactly what made these small stuffed animals so much better than others, Aziraphale did not know. However, he paid enough attention to his surroundings to know that they were indeed prized.

Anthony took one look at them and asked, “How much to play?”

“One dollar a try,” said Mrs. Rockwell. Anthony tugged on Aziraphale’s sleeve, and he handed the money over.

On his first try, Anthony procured himself a bag of candy, but apparently that wasn’t enough. He went again and lost. He looked so disappointed that Aziraphale gave Mrs. Rockwell a five dollar bill.

Another bag of candy. Nothing. Nothing. Victory.

Anthony held the two ducks up, showing off the red circles on their bottoms with the excitement of a man who’d just won the lottery. Mrs. Rockwell clapped. “Looks like we’ve got a winner! You can choose one of our grand prizes!”

It was an odd collection of little animals, dogs, cats, bears, a ghost. Aziraphale expected Anthony to choose the snake, a nonthreatening, plush, curl of green with a little red tongue. He overlooked it entirely.

“I want that bear there. The white one.”

“Here you go, Tony, and congratulations. Have fun with the rest of the fair. It was nice to meet you Ezra.”

“Thanks,” Anthony said, but he seemed eager to get away now that his prize was in hand. He took Ezra by the sleeve and pulled him into the crowd.

“We ought to head back to the church’s stand I think. If only to drop off your collection of prizes so we don’t have to carry them around all day. What made you choose that one, by the way? I didn’t think you had particular interest in polar bears.”

“I don’t… It’s not… I got if for you.” Anthony thrust it out, looking slightly embarrassed with himself. Half a year ago, when he’d given Aziraphale the magnet he’d purchased at the MET, there’d been no bashful self-awareness. Somewhere around the time he’d gained a second digit, giving gifts had become something to be self-conscious of.

Aziraphale took his gift. The bear, as it turned out, was an angel. On its little back were a pair of shiny wings, atop its head a golden halo. Aziraphale’s lip trembled, “Did you see this right away and were trying to win it for me? Anthony, I’m so touched.”

He hugged the boy who squawked, “Ezra, we’re in public!”

Aziraphale didn’t see why that mattered much. He smiled at his little angel bear all the way back to Westwich Methodist’s baked goods stand.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Talent show next week!


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No chapter specific tags, but a reminder that the tags for the whole fic can always apply.

Maddy was the first to catch sight of Aziraphale and Anthony as they pushed their way through the crowds of the Fourth of July celebration back towards Westwich Methodist’s baked goods stall. “You two must be having fun. We haven’t seen you in hours!” 

Most of the Youth Group had cleared off, leaving just Josh and Amy Brown holding down the fort with the Clarks. Maddy was taking advantage of the awning’s shade but was not at work. She had set up a lawn chair and was enjoying a book.

“We’ve had had quite a jolly time, I must say. Look what Anthony won me!” He held out the bear.

“That’s so cute, Ez!” said Edith, handing off a customer to Amy Brown. “If you want you can put it in my purse so it doesn’t get dirty.”

He thanked her, tucking the bear safely away where not a speck of earth could touch it. Anthony, meanwhile, ducked under the table to pile his two bags of candy and the plastic owl on top of his guitar case.

“Mom, have you just been sitting here the whole time?”

“Mostly. I did walk over to the artisan craft section by the library though. There’s some neat stuff there. You guys should check it out. Especially you, Ez. I think the library is selling off some of the old books they’ve taken out circulation.”

“They’re what?” he said. “Oh, I most certainly will go there.”

Elijah, however, had a request. “I was hoping you two would join me in checking out the militia reenactment next. It should be starting at the green in fifteen minutes and we’ll want to get a good spot.”

Anthony stood up abruptly and stared at Elijah with obvious offense. “You can’t make him go to that!”

The Browns busied themselves with cookie selling. Everyone else looked at Anthony in confusion.

Eventually Elijah asked, “Why not?”

Aziraphale was wondering the same thing. Certainly he was more interested in the library than a historical reenactment, but he could not imagine what there was for him to be horrified by.

“Cause… Cause… Cause… You know what the war was about right?” Anthony said emphatically.

It was difficult not to laugh, but Aziraphale managed. “Anthony, I’m sure I’ll be alright watching some men in some costumes explain how military drills worked in the 1700s. You needn’t worry on my account. I won’t be offended and I don’t think anyone is going to come after me.”

This assurance seemed effective enough. Anthony agreed to go watch the reenactment, but he stayed close to Aziraphale and glared at anyone who so much as looked in his direction. This, it turned out, was highly unnecessary. No one cared or noticed that there was an Englishman (or angel passing as such) hidden in their midst. In the absence of snide remarks, Aziraphale rather enjoyed himself. The reenactors were not hobbyists but historians hired for the event. They spent as much time talking about the manufacturing of cloth during the American Revolution as they did firing gunpowder from their muskets.

Still, he was pleased when it was over and Elijah returned to the stall, leaving Anthony and Aziraphale free to make their way to the library. They passed through the artisan and craft section on their way there. Here the stalls were not home to fried food and carnival games but handmade crafts instead. They wandered through a forest of dream catchers, clay figurines, and knit goods until finally coming upon the library.

It was busier here than Aziraphale had expected. A door at one corner of the library had been propped open and a line of people filed in. Aziraphale and Anthony joined them, and the reason for the crowd became clear as they neared the door. It was the only part of the Fourth of July celebration where there was any air conditioning.

They entered into a room, usually reserved for town meetings or guests speakers, where old books had been laid out on tables or filed into boxes. Most visitors gave everything a cursory glance and then went back outside once they were sufficiently cooled. Aziraphale settled in for the long haul.

He studied every spine, looking for damage, and then checked the copyright page of anything that caught his interest. For the most part he knew immediately why no one had checked these books out of the library in some time. They were, many of them, outdated reference books or once popular series that had fallen into obscurity. Still, there were a few copies of old classics, ones that had fallen into disrepair after being borrowed so many times. The librarians had done their best to rescue what they could, but none of them had Aziraphale’s years of experience and knowledge.

Aziraphale lost track of time as he gathered up a pile of books, handing some of them off to Anthony as though he were a shopping trolley rather than a child. He found a few salvageable copies of Twain, a handful of 1970s romance novels, and a set of Laura Ingalls Wilder’s Little House books containing a number of first editions. They were in poor condition which he was privately glad of. If they’d been better off he might have felt guilty about not telling the library what they had on their hands.

But he still wouldn’t have told them.

He’d have been there until nightfall if a rather loud yawn from Anthony hadn’t brought him back to his senses. “Oh dear, I’m afraid I must have bored you silly. You should have said something. I would have left sooner.”

“We could stay longer, angel. I don’t mind. Honest. I just got a little sleepy is all.” He adjusted the load of books he was carrying as if to show he still had the energy to carry on.

“Nonsense. I won’t keep us here a moment longer.” He hurried them to the register, which was really just an elderly man with a cash box, and paid the fewer than ten dollars that was owed for his entire haul.

Anthony was starting look a bit peaked, so Aziraphale settled him to rest on a bench in front of the library. They hadn’t had near enough to drink considering the heat of the day, but the library marked the edge of the fair and most of the food stalls were a ways back down the street. There was, however, an ice cream truck parked just outside the fair’s perimeters enjoying the crowds without having to rent a proper spot. Ice lollies were mostly water anyway, so Aziraphale left the books with Anthony and did not return until he’d procured two Firecracker popsicles for them to enjoy.

After spending so much of the day bustling from place to place, it was pleasant to sit in the shade and watch the crowds go by. Aziraphale glanced idly at his watch and noted that it was 4:52. They could while away half an hour yet and still get Anthony fed before the contest began. Just now, the boy was happily gnawing on what was left of his popsicle stick and swinging his legs back and forth.

“Have you decided what song you’re going to play, yet? I noticed you stopped polling people as the day went on.”

Anthony shrugged. It was a languid motion, comfortable, not the one he used when feeling defensive. “I’m gonna go with something from the radio. I’ve been practicing a couple thing. I just gotta choose which one.”

They fell back into a companionable silence. Aziraphale let out a sigh of contentment.

“Oh, I am going to miss just sitting. I’m sure when I get on that bus come Saturday I won’t have a minute’s peace for two weeks. The way my father has been going on about it, it’ll be a constant stream of outdoor activities interspersed with sermons and people crying over how much they’ve changed.”

“When your dad describes it, it sounds more fun than that,” Anthony said. Aziraphale was a bit surprised to hear this from him. Anthony was rarely supportive of organized group activities.

“You think so?”

“Yeah.” Anthony was pointing his toes so that they reached the ground properly and he could make idle patterns in the earth. He would not look at Aziraphale. “You’ll get a chance to be with a lot of kids your own age and make better friends with them and stuff. It’ll be good for you.”

The words were clearly someone else’s, Elijah’s perhaps or Maddy’s. Aziraphale could imagine the conversation that had preceded them. Anthony’d likely made it clear he did not want Aziraphale to go.

“Well, on that note, you ought to have a rather excellent couple of weeks yourself. You’ll be spending every day in, what’s that odd mishmash of words? Ah, Vacation Bible School.”

Anthony stared at him flatly. Every summer Edith ran Vacation Bible School at the church. It was, technically, a day camp. It allowed parents to send their children off for a few hours a day, a couple weeks a year, safe in the knowledge that every activity their children got involved in was wholesome. Aziraphale had participated only once, the summer following his adoption, before he’d managed to locate Anthony. There had been a lot of coloring, singing, listening to stories, and doing crafts that were only tangentially related to the topic at hand. 

Anthony had managed to avoid the enterprise entirely. That was, until this year. Now Elijah and Aziraphale would both be gone and his mother would be at work. That left him in Edith’s care which, for these two weeks, came free with a T-shirt and forced interactions. Aziraphale knew full well that Anthony was dreading it.

“ _Your_ camp has canoes and high schoolers and rock music. Like, really crappy rock music, but still. Mine’s just going to be Sunday School if it lasted four hours every week day for two weeks. And I’m going to be one of the oldest kids there. The middle schoolers don’t go! It’s just going to be babies and stupid coloring books and lame music. I don’t even know why I’ve got to go. I mean, our apartment is in the church. I’ll just be upstairs from where they are anyway. Can’t they trust me to be myself in the same building?” Aziraphale was glad he’d set him off. The distant melancholy with which he’d spoken before was gone. He gesticulated wildly, animated by his own annoyance.

“I’d rather stay in the church and color then be forced to share a cabin with a bunch of unwashed adolescent boys. Still, we’ll both survive. I’m sure of that. It’s only two weeks.” He smiled at Anthony but, to his surprise, the boy now looked sadder than before. He was biting his lip, as though trying not to cry.

“What is it?” Aziraphale took a stab in the dark, “Are you getting nervous about performing?”

Anthony shook his head. “I mean, I am little nervous, but like excited nervous.”

“Then what’s got you so upset?”

“You remember when we went to New York and it was the first time I’d been away from my mom for a whole weekend since I moved into the apartment?” Aziraphale nodded, encouraging him to continue. “Well, I haven’t been away from _you_ for a whole weekend since even before that and this is two whole weeks!”

A being’s sense of time is influenced by how long it has already lived. Two weeks to a child is far longer than it is to an adult, and two weeks to an adult is far longer than it is to 6,000 year old eternal being. There had been times in the past when centuries had passed without him seeing Crowley. There had been times when they’d picked up mid conversation after a decade or so. Aziraphale’s sense of time had slowed slightly as he’d experienced humanity first hand, but it still had not occurred to him how long two weeks was to this boy. He hadn’t thought about how long it had been since they’d been apart.

He pulled Anthony close, hugging him against his chest, getting no protests about being in public this time around. He was not sobbing but tears slipped out, dampening Aziraphale’s shirt. His voice trembled as he spoke, “I’m glad you’re going. It’ll be good, I bet. You’ll probably make a friend or something. I just… I know I’ll miss you. And I get worried in case it’s bad. In case someone picks on you or makes you feel bad about yourself and I just wish I was old enough that I could go too. That way I wouldn’t have to say goodbye and if it does suck I could make it better for you.”

Aziraphale chuckled fondly, “And how would you do that?”

“Funny observations mostly.” Aziraphale pulled back to see that Anthony was smirking through his tears. He was about to tease him, to try and make that smile wider, when he caught sight of his own watch. “Oh! It’s nearly 5:30. We need to get you fed and cleaned up before the show begins! Do you still feel up to it? You’re not too distraught are you?”

Anthony shook his head and sniffed. “Nah. I’m an artist, angel. I can use this.”

* * *

Half an hour later, Aziraphale sat on a picnic blanket beside the Clarks and Maddy, nervously nibbling a handful of kettle corn, one eye on the stage. The show would not begin for another ten minutes, but Anthony was already settled behind the gazebo with the other waiting performers. They’d all done their best to make him presentable, tried to scrub popsicle stains from his face, dust powdered sugar from his clothes, rearrange his slightly sweaty hair, but he’d still looked like a boy who’d spent the whole day at the fair.

There was nothing more any of them could do now but wait. Aziraphale twisted his hands in his lap and wished he felt more useful.

“Ezra!” Picking their way through picnic blankets and lawn chairs came Rachel and Keisha, each wearing a wide grin. He waved back at them and struggled to his feet.

They stopped so abruptly that they nearly fell over. Keisha, who he’d not seen since school had ended, gave him a hug. “I’m so glad we found you. My parents only just dropped me off and I was worried we wouldn’t get here before the show started.”

“Well, you’re just in time if you’d like to join us. Did you get a chance to have dinner?” He asked, settling back down on the blanket, now leaving a space for the girls.

Edith, always friendly, offered them the bag of kettle corn, “You girls can have some if you like.”

Rachel readily dug in, but Keisha shook her head. “My family’s 4th of July cookout is just lunch, but it’s the kind of lunch where you don’t ever need to eat again. I’m so full of ribs and mac and cheese that I’m surprised I can still move.”

“It sounds like you had fun,” Aziraphale said with a smile. He was enjoying this interruption from his anxiety.

“For the most part, yeah.” Keisha’s eyes widened. “Oh, guess who Rachel and I saw while we were walking over here?”

Aziraphale shook his head.

“Molly with her boyfriend. She actually waved at us which was kind of a surprise. I was starting to think she’d forgotten who we-”

If she was going to add anything else, the sound of a microphone being adjusted interrupted her. The tired woman Anthony had signed up with that morning was standing up on stage. “Hello everyone! Welcome, as always, to our Fourth of July celebration. In years passed we normally had live music from local performers during the dinner hours leading up our town’s firework show. This year, however, we’re doing something a little different. We’re having a talent show.”

She paused for applause.

“We thought this would be a fun way for everyone to see just how talented Westwich can be. Over the past few weeks we held auditions so that we could get a nice variety of acts for you. We’ve also got a few contestants from Westwich’s public school system who were signed up by some very proud teachers. All of these fantastic Westwichians will be competing for our panel of judges.”

Here she gestured to a group of people in their late middle age who sat in chairs off to the side of the stage. One by one she introduced them and the small town businesses they owned.

“These fine business owners have all pitched in to create a one hundred dollar prize for our winner!”

The crowd of people, most who came from households that pulled down at least six-figure salaries, cheered the hundred dollars like it was some untold treasure.

“Your opinion counts too though. When you like what you’ve seen applaud as loudly as you can and our patented applause’o’meter will register how much noise you can make.” She pointed to some kind of sound registering machine with a large red arrow on it. “Now, without further ado, I’d like to welcome to the stage- Gregory Hanson and his performing dog Chip!”

An hour later, after sitting through dozens of acts, Aziraphale was feeling somewhat better about Anthony’s chances of victory. There’d been many fun and interesting performances, but nothing especially impressive. His biggest competition came from a local band of middle aged men who’d done an admirable job at what Aziraphale could now recognize as rock music. The applause’o’meter had shown a great deal of audience pleasure.

Aziraphale’s only real concern was that the crowd was starting to grow restless, more people were getting up to wander back to the stalls and games before they shut down for the evening. Fewer people meant less noise. But the event organizers were no fools. They’d expected a wane in interest around seven ‘o’clock and used their secret weapon: the fact the people found children cute.

“Most of our student contestants tonight come from our very own Westwich High, a few came from Westwich Middle, but only one talented young man comes to us from one of our Elementary Schools. Please put your hands together for Tony Drake.”

After an hour of adults and high school seniors, Anthony seemed especially small. Aziraphale had stopped thinking of him as particularly young, after all he’d only one more year of elementary school, but up on stage with his messy shirt and round face, he looked like a baby. The audience cooed accordingly.

Aziraphale hoped Anthony couldn’t hear them. He already looked embarrassed enough as the emcee lowered the microphone as far as it could go.

He spoke. “Um, I’m going to play a song for you tonight. It’s, uh, it’s pretty popular on the radio right now, so I hope everyone will like it.”

He let out a long and wavering breath and then began to play. It was indeed something Aziraphale had heard on the radio on one of the stations Edith was fond of. He’d never paid much attention to the song before.

“ _So lately, been wondering_

_Who will be there to take my place._

_When I’m gone you’ll need love to light the shadows on your face_

_If a great wave shall fall and fall upon us all_

_Then between the sand and stone, could you make it on your own?”_

When he reached the chorus he belted, as much as his little lungs could.

“ _If I could, then I would_

_I’ll go wherever you will go_

_Way up high or down low, I’ll go wherever you will go!”_

Musically, he was as good as any other time that Aziraphale had heard him perform, although he was not quite as impressive with the guitar as he was on the piano. There was something more this time, however. He wasn’t just singing the song, he was performing it. He felt every word of this melodramatic love song and he was making sure the audience felt it to.

When he finished, the audience cheered louder than they had at any point that night. They thought he was talented and they thought he was precious and that was a combination that could not be defeated.

“Holy crap, I didn’t know little neighbor kid could do that!” Keisha said at precisely the same time Maddy shouted, “That’s my boy!”

Aziraphale just beamed at the stage.

He and Crowley had rarely talked about their visits to their respective home offices. However, there had been one night, sometime back in the seventies, when Crowley had arrived on his door step already half way plastered and ready to rant. He’d been to hell that afternoon, never a pleasant experience, but made all the worse because he’d had to give a presentation.

_“ ‘Snot that I mind speaking… speaking in front of everybody, angel. Don’t care about that. ‘Specially not when I’m talking about somethin’ I care about. You know? ‘Sonly they don’t ever care. That’s the problem. You put together a whole spiel about something- somethin’ brilliant I might add- and they just stare at you blankly. How hard is it to make a little wahoo, angel? How hard is it to clap? It’s demor… demorlizin’ that’s what it is. All I wanted was a little appreciation.”_

Thirty years later, Anthony stood on stage, his whole face a light at the sound of applause. Aziraphale did not think he’d ever seen him happier. Ever.

* * *

The Fourth of July had ended in a whirl of color and excitement. Anthony had won. His picture had been taken for the local paper. He’d received his hundred dollars in an envelope and clutched it tightly the whole way back home. Crowley was not simply getting the chance at a human life, he was excelling at it. Aziraphale had gone to bed feeling utterly content.

A few days later he could not have felt more miserable. It was raining outside, in a way that felt painfully portentous, as he stared out the windows of the fellowship hall. Thirteen members of the Youth Group had opted to attend the two week summer camp and they were all milling around and talking excitedly. Most of their parents had left after delivering their offspring to the church, but a few had remained to cluck over them until the bus they’d rented arrived.

Edith and Elijah were among them, although Elijah was acting more in his official capacity, checking to see that each camper was present and had brought the required amount of luggage. He was clearly excited and had been clearly excited for the past few days.

Aziraphale sighed heavily.

“Psst. Hey, Ezra. Down here.”

Aziraphale glanced down, to see Anthony crouching beside his bag. He glanced around, wondering if anyone had either noticed or cared. No one seemed to, so he squatted down. “Why aren’t we standing?”

“Cause I’ve got a plan. If I squeeze up real tight I think I can fit in your bag. That way I can go with you!” He was grinning but his eyes did not display such confidence.

“You know that won’t be possible. Even if we got you there, they’d just send you home once you were found.” Aziraphale took Anthony’s hand and raised them both up.

Anthony kicked at the ground. His lip tremble. “You’ll call if anyone picks on you though, right? Or if your dad makes you do too much stuff that you hate? Or if… or if you need me for anything?”

“I think the phone there is only for emergencies.” He swept some of Anthony’s hair gently back from his forehead. “I’ll count the days, though, until I get to come home. And if I’m ever lonely or feel too out of place, I’ll remember there’s someone waiting for me. I promise we’ll both be just fine, my dear. Now, I know we’re in public, but am I allowed a hug?”

The answer came as Anthony threw himself against Aziraphale, nearly knocking both of them down. He did not let go until the bus arrived and Edith came to say her own goodbye. Then Aziraphale got caught up in the chaos of loading his luggage beneath the bus while trying not to get soaked by the summer rain.

Clambering onto the bus, he fell heavily into a seat near the front. This was where his father found him when he and fellow chaperone, Mrs. Fielding, joined them.

“You don’t want to sit up here, buddy. All the fun is going to be happening in the back. Go sit with the other kids.”

Aziraphale glanced over his shoulder at the excited adolescents laughing and messing about near the rear of the bus. “I think I’d rather stay here, thank you.”

“Ezra, the point of this whole experience is for you to build some new friendships. That’s not going to happen if you don’t make an effort.”

“I didn’t realize the transportation counted as part of the experience,” Aziraphale said dryly.

“It does. Now go. Make friends.”

With a huff, Aziraphale stood and relocated himself into the vicinity of the teenage chaos. He sat, taking a certain pleasure in the drama of staring out the raindrop streaked window as the bus began to start up.

That pleasure went away when he glanced up to the window of the Drake’s apartment and made out a distraught little face staring back at him. He kept his eyes fixed on that point as the bus trundled away. In his desperation to force Aziraphale to make new friends, Elijah was taking him away from the dearest one he would ever have.

* * *

The bus was gone. Dejected, Tony slumped away from his mother’s bedroom window. He didn’t need the view it offered anymore.

It would be fine; Ezra had told him as much. There was no need to waste the last day and a half of freedom before stupid Vacation Bible School started Monday morning, just moping around the house. But Tony wanted to mope. He wanted to look sad and pathetic until someone came and pet him on the head and gave him something nice to eat and told him he was a poor little thing. Without Ezra present, the job would have to go to his mother.

She was sitting at their table, bent over some letter and not paying him any attention. Tony threw himself dramatically over one end of the couch and sighed as heavily as he could.

He waited. It did not seem to have worked. Tony sighed again, louder this time.

Still, his mother did not so much as raise her head. He would have to be more direct.

“Mom?” Tony said in his most pathetic voice, “Do you think Ezra will miss me?”

“What? Oh, right. Uh, I’m sure he’ll miss you, Tony.” She didn’t look up. She was still frowning at the paper. Something was wrong.

He pulled himself off the couch and went to stand beside her, “Mom, are you okay?”

Maddy jumped when he spoke, as though she had not noticed he was getting any closer. She grabbed the letter, whatever it was, and quickly crumpled it up before standing and tossing it in to the trash. Then she hugged him.

“Of course Ezra’s going to miss you. But he’s going to be totally fine. There’s nothing you need to worry about. Nothing at all.”

Tony was plenty worried, but it was no longer because of Ezra. This only worsened when she spoke again.

“Listen, would you be alright having dinner just with Edith tonight? I’m sure she wouldn’t mind.” His mother was biting her lip and twisting her hands around and around. Her face was pale. Her eyes darted to and fro. She looked like the mother he’d known when he was very small, the one who’d been too frightened to care for him.

“Where are you gonna be?”

“I’m going to find a meeting tonight.”

He knew what she meant. Maddy had attended meetings with other people in the process of recovery regularly for the past three years. She went every Wednesday night.

Today was Saturday. Something was very wrong.

“I’m going to, uh, go and, um, see if Edith is still down stairs. If she’s not I’ll um… I’ll uh… I’ll come back upstairs and we’ll go and… and walk over to the Clark’s place together alright?”

Tony nodded, uncertain what else he could say. The moment she closed the apartment door, he sprang to the garbage can and pulled out the letter. The heading at the top read “Office of Victim Services” and when he read below suddenly everything made sense.

Benjamin Drake had been given parole for good behavior.

Tony’s father was out of prison.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, as you may have guessed from the ominous last line, there's going to be some more tagging going on for the next handful of chapters. I'll post them in the beginning notes as usual. Just scroll on passed them if you're worried about spoilers. If you've got some triggers though, just make sure to give them a look.


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Specific Tags:  
> -Bullying  
> -Use of Homophobic Slur  
> -Religious Discussions

The bus ride lasted a little over an hour, but seemed to take an eternity. Josh, ever the good example, had made someone clear a space so that they could invite Aziraphale to join them. It was harder to say no to that than to roll his eyes at Elijah. So back he went to settle among the teenage boys where there was far too much shoving and standing on moving vehicles. There was also a lot of chatter about last year’s camp, about the games, the campfires, and the girls from other churches.

Josh grinned at Aziraphale, who was the only freshman boy on the trip. “You’re going to love it. It’s like the movies, you know? The kind of summer that changes your life.”

Aziraphale supposed it was easy to have a life changing experience when said life had only lasted fourteen years and had been relatively uneventful.

And yet, for all that he was desperate to free himself from the confines of this miserable vehicle, his stomach began to twist when the bus turned by a sign marked “Maple Lake Campgrounds”. The road transformed from pavement to dirt as the trees around them grew thicker, branches reaching out overhead. The rain had stopped some time ago, but the leaves here still sprinkled droplets whenever the wind blew. Aziraphale could hear them occasionally over the sounds of excitement in the bus. Campers pressed their faces against the window, ignoring Elijah’s constant reminders that they needed to stay properly seated.

Eventually the bus came to a stop, without pulling off into anyplace in particular. There was a surge of bodies as twelve teenagers all tried to get into the aisle first. Elijah let out a shrill whistle and they all stopped. “Hold on a second, everybody. One of the counselors will be getting on to tell us where to go first. Just hold your horses. Remember, patience is a virtue.” 

So everyone sat back down, slumping miserably as though waiting for three minutes was a torture that simply could not be borne. Before long, an excitable young woman with a clipboard and too many teeth boarded the bus to greet them.

“Hey there, campers! I think I see some familiar faces. My name is Nicole and I’m one of the counselors here with Blessings Summer Camp at Camp Maple Lake.” Aziraphale could already foresee no one using that full title. “I’m sure you guys are all raring to go but there are some rules to lay down first so keep those ears open.”

She turned around to show them the name of the camp printed on the back of her bright yellow shirt. “Everyone you see dressed like me is one of our camp counselors. We’re in charge of games and activities. When we get off the bus and make our way to the Common Area, you’ll meet the counselor who’ll be looking out for you and your cabin mates. But you can reach out to any of us if you’ve got questions.

“The other adults you’ll need to listen to are our chaperones.” Here she gestured to Elijah and Mrs. Fielding. “There will also be chaperones from the other churches that are visiting as well. Your chaperones are here to keep you safe and to help guide you in your spiritual growth.”

At this point she consulted her clipboard and rattled off the daily schedule they would be expected to follow. Even their free time had been slated for specific times of day. Aziraphale enjoyed his freedom and his solitude. He would barely have either for the next two weeks.

The schedule explained, Counselor Nicole became serious through her overwide smile, “There are a lot of fun activities and awesome amenities here at camp, but you can only use them with a counselor present. No one should be on the archery fields, touching the ropes course, swimming in the lake, or using the fencing swords without supervision. Most importantly, no boys near the ladies’ cabins and no ladies near the boys’ cabins. Remember everyone, Blessings Summer Camp is about getting closer to God first and having fun second. Now come on everybody, follow me!”

They all hurried after her, squeezing down the aisle of the bus, eager to stretch their legs and find their cabins. During Nicole’s speech, the bus driver had unloaded all their bags and left them sitting in the mud. The campers grabbed their luggage now and schlepped down the wide earthen path after her.

Aziraphale tried to be appreciative of nature but his bright, white, new tennis shoes were ruined before he’d walked three feet and the boughs overhead kept splashing droplets into his curls. On another day, in another mood, he might have enjoyed the walk from the Welcome Center. The trees here were plentiful, leaves verdant from early summer rains. They cast a welcome shade upon the arriving campers.

The buildings they passed were less impressive. Nicole gestured to the largest building in view, a blue roofed thing with faded siding which she referred to in military style as the ‘mess hall’. Across from that was a somewhat smaller structure, built of interlocking logs. Only the cross set into its roof marked it as the chapel that it was. There were more buildings, smaller ones, that he could make out through the trees, but there was no time to study those now. They had reached what Nicole termed “The Common Area”.

It was nothing more than a large dirt field marked by a few dilapidated picnic tables. Presently, it was filled with adolescents, gathered in a handful of groups, talking or laughing or standing nervously beside one another.

“Alright, Westwich Methodist, you guys are our last church so your cabin mates are already waiting for you. There are four cabins for girls and four for boys. In order to really bring us together, you won’t just be bunking with people from your own church. We’re going to mix everybody up! Just get in line over there and you’ll be told which cabin to join and get your very own camp t-shirt! Chaperones, your cabins are gathering over there.”

As the rest of his Youth Group surged forward, Aziraphale hung back. He hated this. He hated lines and numbers and groups and uniforms. There’d been no sense of time before earth had been invented and so he could not say whether he’d spent a few years in heavenly training or many millennia. But he’d never missed it, never had any desire to return to it, had been overjoyed when given his post in the garden.

He’d hesitated too long. Elijah came up beside him and rustled his hair. “You’ll be fine, buddy. Everyone’s going to like you; you just need to put yourself out there. Go on!”

With a gentle push, Elijah urged him forward. The line was nearly gone already and, before he’d gotten himself together, he found himself in front of an overly enthusiastic young man.

“What’s your name, camper?”

“Ezra… Ezra Fell. I think, I’m listed that way. Perhaps Ezra Clark. I’m not sure how I was registered actually. I-”

“Ezra Fell, here you are. Here’s your T-shirt and you’re going to be in Cabin 3. Your cabin mates are standing over there with Counselor Steve.” A teal shirt was shoved into his arms and Aziraphale was forced to juggle it along with his bags as he approached Steve who was waving with entirely too much excitement. He knew only one of the boys he would be rooming with- Kyle, who’d spent the entire ride up talking about how attractive he found the girls from Ridgeton Methodist.

The other four boys came from the other two churches in attendance. Every last one of them was taller than Aziraphale and he felt quite small by comparison. One of the boys, a particularly brawny specimen, had even managed to grow himself a proper beard.

Steve spoke in the same over enthusiastic tone as all the other counselors. “Hey there, you must be Ezra. Welcome to Cabin 3! Everybody grab your stuff and I’ll show you where you’ll be staying.”

Aziraphale trailed behind the group, his stubby legs failing to do much good as they meandered through forest paths. The boys’ cabins were a fair bit away from the Mess Hall, the chapel, and the veneer of civilization which they offered. He supposed it would be a pleasant walk most mornings, when he wasn’t lugging his possessions with him, and the ground wasn’t mud.

“Hey, uh, you’re new this year, right? Just finished Freshman year?” Aziraphale looked up in surprise. One of the boys, a twig of a thing, had fallen back from the rest of the group. Everything about him seemed insubstantial from his wisps of pale brown hair to his thin lipped smile. Even his voice was quiet. Aziraphale got the sense that a strong breeze might do him in.

“Er, yes. Are you new as well?”

“No, uh, I came last year. Listen, um, I’m not super close with our other cabin mate from my church. That’s Justin. He’s the big guy. He’s not going to want to be bunk mates with me. I was wondering if you would? I can keep an eye out for you a little, show you the ropes if you want.”

The poor dear looked so desperate that Aziraphale assured him right away that he needn’t worry. He lit up and Aziraphale was afraid the relief might be too much for his heart to take.

At least this seemed an auspicious start. Elijah couldn’t get on his case about not talking to anyone.

* * *

Tony’s mother had felt better after talking to Edith and better still after attending her meeting. She wasn’t so white faced and shaken when she got home. She even went so far as to tell Tony about the letter.

It had been one of those kitchen table conversations where she put her hand on top of his. “I want to be honest with you, Tony. You’re ten-years-old now, and I don’t think this is something I should be keeping a secret. Your father’s out of prison but I don’t want you to be afraid. He’s not allowed to talk to either of us anymore and he doesn’t even know where we live. He’s not… he can’t… he hasn’t got any control over either of us and we don’t need him. So you don’t need to be afraid.”

He’d told her he wasn’t afraid and she’d said the same thing, but he’d slept in her bed that night anyway.

Tony didn’t _think_ he was afraid of his father, but he wasn’t actually sure. He hated him, of that he was certain, but he seemed too far away to be frightening. He supposed, for his mother, four years wasn’t all that long ago. For Tony is was almost half his life. He’d been a toddler for most of the years they’d spent cowering from Benjamin Drake. The memories were fuzzy and unclear. He remembered being frightened, remembered not wanting to speak, not wanting to draw attention to himself. He remembered how much more secure he’d felt when Ezra was with him.

But he didn’t think he was still afraid.

Maybe he should’ve been. Maybe, if he’d acted more upset than he felt, his mother would have suggested he come to work with her. He sort of hoped she would anyway, since she was clearly anxious, but she wanted him to feel like everything was normal. She’d practically said as much to him Monday morning when she kissed him goodbye before climbing into the car. “I don’t want you to worry about anything, Tony. Nothing’s changed.”

Nothing changing meant he still had to go to Vacation Bible School.

He and Edith were, unsurprisingly, the first to arrive at the church, although two other volunteering moms and their children came shortly afterward to help set up. This began in the Fellowship Hall, where a large poster depicting a few happy animals and emblazoned with the words “We’re WILD about God” was hung at one end of the room. Tony sat in the corner and watched in confusion as they opened up boxes of t-shirts and plastic safari hats.

He had clearly not been paying enough attention to what had gone on beneath his apartment during previous summers. Apparently during the work week God required significantly more theming than on Sundays.

At nine ‘o’clock the other students began to arrive. There were far more of them than Tony had expected, more than attended on a regular Sunday. There were even a few other soon to be fifth graders, which at least made Tony feel slightly less ridiculous as he pulled on his “VBS SAFARI-2001-WILD about God” T-shirt. Still, he’d have preferred to set it on fire and the day only got worse from there.

“Alright everybody, gather round. I want to talk about what we’ll be doing over the next two weeks,” Edith called gently. She was currently attending school to become a music teacher and, while Tony knew from experience that she could explain instrumentation wonderfully, someone needed to show her how to wrangle a group of children. One of the other mothers shouted, and all the children sat around Edith in a circle.

“Wonderful, so during the next two weeks we’re going to go on safari. We’re going to learn all about some of our favorite Bible stories that include wild animals. We’ll spend two days on each story. On the first day we’ll read through it together and then we’ll put together a little show about that story. We’ll make our own costumes and props and then we’ll act it out at the end of the second day. Now who can think of some Bible stories with wild animals in them?”

The adults already had a list, they must have or else they would have been completely unprepared, but they let the children feel like they’d come up with it anyway. Edith jotted down their ideas on a large piece of chart paper. They came up with Eden, the Ark, and the manger on their own, but somehow the list ended up reading: The Garden of Eden, Noah and the Ark, Jonah and the Whale, Daniel in the Lions’ Den, the Parable of the Lost Sheep. The nativity was dropped, since they did that one every winter.

At this point they were mercifully split up by age, the youngest children herded off to one of the Sunday school classrooms to color in pictures of animals, the middle group went off to brain storm some way to make a jungle, Tony and the other older children stayed with Edith and her chart paper. It was going to be their job to create the script.

Tony may have hated this, but he did not hate Edith. He had every intention of playing along and being moderately helpful but he couldn’t. As she read to them the story of the fall, from the regular bible rather than the children’s version the little kids would get, his head began to ache. As the other children raised their hands to suggest which characters to include and what lines they should say, Tony’s ears buzzed.

It was how he always felt in Sunday school but worse because this didn’t seem to end.

“Tony, you haven’t made any suggestions. Is there anything you think we should add?” He snapped back to reality to see Edith smiling at him, eyebrows bunched with worry. Swallowing heavily, he looked at the papers she’d pinned to the wall. They’d already gotten through the naming and the forbidding and the apple and the getting thrown out.

“You forgot-”

The girl sitting beside him threw her hand in the air and started speaking without being called on “We forgot the part where God tells the serpent he’ll spend the rest of his days on his belly and eat dust and he’ll be the enemy of people forever and ever!”

“That’s true Gina, but right now it’s Tony’s turn. What were you going to say, Tony?”

Just this moment he had been going to tell Gina that the curse hadn’t worked very well, had it? But as he couldn’t quite figure out what he actually meant by that, he went somewhere else. “ _I_ was gonna say you forgot the angel.”

“So we did! The Bible tells us ‘So he drove out the man; and he placed at the east of the garden of Eden Cherubims, and a flaming sword which turned every way, to keep the way of the tree of life.’ So, we could have God in our play, call up an angel with the sword to guard the gate. That could make a pretty exciting end to our show. What do you guys think?”

The gathered nine and ten-year-olds nodded enthusiastically, particularly some of the boys who were likely imagining themselves cast in that part and whacking other kids with a plastic sword when adults weren’t looking.

Tony, however, frowned. He’d meant to stay quiet, but he spoke anyway. “That’s not where it ends though.”

“Hmm, you could say that. But for our purposes we’ll leave out a Cain and Abel for another day. We can’t have the show going on forever.”

“I didn’t mean that,” Tony told her, although he wasn’t quite sure _what_ he meant. He kept speaking anyway, as though he were discovering the words as he said them. “The angel didn’t keep the sword. The angel gave it to Adam and Eve so they’d be safe. Then he and the snake talked about it until it rained.”

Everyone was staring at him.

Gina wrinkled her nose. “What are you even talking about? Are you quiet during Sunday school because you’re just sitting there making stuff up?”

“I didn’t make it up!” Although Tony was starting to think he had.

“Tony, honey,” Edith said quietly, “That’s not part of the story.”

“Yeah,” Gina added, “And why would an angel talk to an evil serpent, anyway?”

“Because… because the angel is nice…” He’d had more to say but it slipped away again. He looked up at Edith, “Did I really just make that up?”

She moved her head back and forth as though uncertain whether to shake it or nod. “I… I’m sure you’re just mixing it up with some other story or book you’ve read. But it’s definitely not in the Bible.”

Tony shrugged and then curled back in on himself. He vowed not to volunteer any more information. He wouldn’t speak again during any of this if he could help himself. Through the rest of the day he focused on silence and on trying to keep his head from spinning. The focus this took was exhausting and he could not have been more pleased when the day was over and he was finally free.

Only then he remembered his father and found himself wishing for the distracting misery of Vacation Bible School once again.

* * *

If there’d been any way to communicate with him, memories all intact, Aziraphale would have asked Crowley if he’d invented summer camp. It seemed just the sort of creative, low grade, wide spread evil that he’d always enjoyed; the kind where you left all the choices in the humans’ hands but stirred the pot in just the right way to make things interesting.

At least that was how he felt on Tuesday when Counselor Steve knocked loudly on the door of Cabin 3 for the third morning in a row. “Come on, boys! The Lord has made this beautiful day for us, don’t let it go to waste!”

The counselors, as far as Aziraphale could tell, always spoke with too many exclamation points.

Stretching, Aziraphale sat up on his bed, grateful for once that he was too small to hit his head on the upper bunk and too young to feel the aches of an uncomfortable mattress. Sometime overnight he’d grown used to the smell of six teenage boys crammed together into one humid room, but he was certain the scent still lingered. It would have been nice to lie abed awhile longer, to use the half an hour left before Steve returned to check on them. However, he’d learned already that the two sinks and two toilet stalls in their bathroom would be overrun at 7:25. The early bird got to relieve himself in peace.

While the other boys grumbled and snored, some willing themselves awake, others losing the battle, Aziraphale took his time getting ready. By the time he was joined in the bathroom, he was showered, brushed, and combed. While the other boys fought over limited plumbing, he changed in relative privacy and made his way out the door.

The boys’ cabins were far from the rest of the camp but close to one another. Aziraphale almost wished Cabin 3 were farther afield. He would have liked to sit with the quiet of the morning, the gentle dawning sun as it filtered through the summer leaves. But there was noise already as the male counselors laughed with one another and checked their watches and the male chaperones chatted as they exited their own cabin. Aziraphale could see Elijah, already fast friends after only two days with these men.

The door of Cabin 3 fell shut behind him, making Aziraphale jump. This was followed by a gentle laugh, “Sorry, Ezra. I didn’t think it would make that much noise. Could you make me get up early tomorrow too? You were smart to get out before everybody else.”

Aziraphale turned to see Martin, the waifish boy who’d asked to be bunk mates on their first afternoon at camp. “Of course. If I can pull myself out of bed with the same speed tomorrow morning, I’ll make sure you’re not left behind.”

Martin gave him a thin lipped smile and looked as though he were going to say something more. The arrival of Steve, however, put a quick end to that. He complimented them both on being up and ready, then began to shout through the door at the others until they all stumbled out, tousled haired and exhausted.

One of the greatest cruelties of Camp Maple Lake was its morning schedule, which managed to fit in a flag raising (which felt disturbingly militaristic) and a session in the chapel, before breakfast. The oldest counselor and three of the chaperones were ordained ministers, and they rotated out the duty of leading the campers through a morning devotional and song.

By the time they’d slogged their way through an atonal version of something titled “Jesus Can I Come and Stay at Your Place”, Aziraphale was so hungry he would have eaten one of the rough carved pews for sustenance. The only benefit of this was it made him care less about how his breakfast tasted. He fought his way through crowds of teenagers in the Mess Hall to fill his tray with food that could best be described as food, and then settled at the corner of a table to inhale it. There was nothing here to be savored.

Martin sat down across from him and picked up one rubbery egg between his fingers. “Eurgh. First letter I’m sending home, I’m telling my mom how much I appreciate her cooking. It’s only been two and a half days of this stuff and I’m already sick of it.”

“Is it crass to count the days so early into an experience?” Aziraphale mused. “I hope not. I’ve been doing it since we got on the bus.”

“Ah, the food may suck but it’s not all bad. I liked camp last year, except for Justin.”

Aziraphale raised an eyebrow. “All you or I have done in terms of activities, the past two days, is crafts and performing arts. Activities you suggested on the basis that we could avoid any physical competition. What are you getting out of this that you couldn’t experience at home?”

“The performing arts we couldn’t do at home,” Martin argued.

“I suppose, but then we’d be free from putting on skits during ‘Fireside’ so that our bunk mates can mock us as soon as the lights are out.” After two days of such, Aziraphale was interested in finding a new secondary activity. The crafting could stay. If he went home with fourteen different cross themed trinkets, the world would keep on turning.

“I guess,” said Martin with a shrug. “But I like the Bible Study and the services and the music. At least I did last year. I wasn’t in a cabin group with Justin last year.”

The bearded boy had shown a distinct talent for turning Bible Study into a time for pointed comments, just subtle enough that their counselor didn’t say anything. Somehow he’d taken yesterday’s discussion of Isaiah 40 and implied that physical weakness showed a lack of faith. This had been such a feat of misinterpretation that Aziraphale had been struck dumb as the counselor tried to redirect the conversation without explicitly telling Justin he was wrong.

“I suppose it’s back to the craft table after breakfast today,” Aziraphale said. He felt the conversation needed redirecting, “I did rather enjoy learning how to make a lanyard, although I’m not entirely certain what to do with it now that I have one.”

Martin seemed to cheer up, now that Aziraphale had stopped grousing, and the rest of their conversation kept a pleasant tone. Before long, however, one of the counselors was shouting for them to clean up and sending them off to their morning activity.

One did not have to walk far to reach the craft station which had been set up at a picnic table in the Common Area just outside the Mess Hall. Somehow, though, the distance still wasn’t short enough. Elijah interrupted them just as they stepped out the door.

“Hey, buddy. Hi, Martin. What are you two thinking of doing today?” Elijah had learned Martin’s name immediately and had been very encouraging every time he saw Aziraphale with him.

“Uh, we were going to do crafting again, Reverend Clark.” Martin was, likewise, in awe of Elijah. He’d seemed jealous to learn ‘Ezra’s’ father was a pastor.

“Don’t you two want to try something else out? There’s so many different things you can do here! It would be a shame to just do the same activity every day.”

Aziraphale was comfortable ignoring this advice. He’d gone to the camp. He was socializing. If he wanted to do so in the shade while he made bracelets, Elijah could deal with that. Martin, however, changed on a dime.

“You’re right, Reverend. We really should do something else. We shouldn’t waste this opportunity.” He turned to Aziraphale. “Is there anything else you want to do?”

Thrown by the sudden transformation, Aziraphale blinked. “Well, uh, I was thinking of replacing performing arts with archery this afternoon. I suppose we could do that now. Hopefully the field is in the shade.”

“Great! Come on, Ezra. We’ll see you around, Reverend.”

The path to the archery field took them past the girl’s cabins and along the edge of the lake. It was pleasant here, quiet, as the water activities were reserved for the afternoon. Their conversation with Elijah had been brief enough that they did not arrive late. Counselor Nicole was waiting with a small group of campers and they were, in fact, in the shade. Aziraphale was beginning to think this might not be such a bad way to spend an hour and a half when Justin and Kyle came down the path after them.

This was either very poor luck or the boys had overheard their conversation and followed on purpose. Either way, it did not portend good things.

The morning activity block passed in misery. Although the counselor was strict enough that Justin could not get away with anything so foolish as aiming an arrow in their direction, he found other forms of harassment. As they waited their turns he’d lean forward and whisper.

“Careful, Marty this’ll be hard to do with a limp wrist.” Or “Make sure the string doesn’t catch on your stomach, Ezra.”

Aziraphale ignored them, performing about as well at archery as he might have expected given it was a skill he’d used infrequently and hadn’t practiced in at least three centuries. Martin, however, fell apart completely. With Justin standing behind him, he couldn’t even manage to knock an arrow with the counselor standing by his side. Eventually he gave up and went to sit in the grass.

This malice followed them to Bible Study. After what should have been a lovely walk through the woods, Counselor Steve gestured for all the boys to sit. As they did, Justin leered in Martin’s direction.

Steve, as was his wont, spoke with too much energy. “Alright campers! Whose got a selection from the Bible that they’d like to discuss today?”

Justin’s hand was in the air almost immediately. Steve pointed to him. “I’d really like to discuss Leviticus 20:13.”

“Sure! Do you want to read it for us, Justin?”

“I’d love to.” He made a show of pulling his bible out, patting it lovingly, and searching for the page, “Here it is ‘If a man also lie with mankind, as he lieth with a woman, both of them have committed an abomination: they shall surely be put to death; their blood shall be upon them.’ I think that’s something worth discussing.”

Steve, who ought to have saved them all from this, floundered for his words and managed only uncomfortable noises.

Aziraphale glanced at Martin who looked as though he might burst into tears. Everyone else in the circle had gone silent. Whatever their thoughts, they did not want to discuss them. That left only Aziraphale.

“It is certainly an interesting passage when one considers the historical context. Leviticus, as I’m sure you’re all well aware, includes a rather impressive list of rules to be followed by the Hebrews after their escape from Egypt. It’s unsurprising, then, that so many of the rules, about dietary needs and fabric and who might sleep with whom, were based on the survival and propagation of a people. They were a small group in a dangerous world with a limited understanding of the internal processes that take place during reproduction. Even as late as the Enlightenment the prevailing theory, at least in Europe, was that the woman was merely a vessel for growth, it was the male sperm that contained all life. Putting aside the immense sexism of that world view, it does make it somewhat understandable that a group who believed themselves to be a chosen people would have rules to protect sperm. That would explain the explicit banning of homosexual activity among men but not women, and the concern expressed in Genesis over Onan ‘spilling his seed’, as it were. The question for us, however, many thousands of years later, is why this particular law, written among so many others, has caught the attention of so many people. Why is it, based as it was in a different time with a different understanding of the world, held up as so important? I’ve never heard anyone argue, for example, that we must remember the chapters in Leviticus which contain very explicit directions on how to perform a proper offering. Most Christian denominations that like to quote this section also don’t follow the dietary restrictions put forth in Leviticus. _That_ discussion would be far more edifying than simply discussing the words as written. Or as translated, rather, it doesn’t do to forget that.”

When Aziraphale had said his piece all of Cabin 3, Counselor Steve included, was staring at him. Aziraphale folded his hands and blinked at them guilelessly, as though he had not purposefully bowled Justin over with too much information all at once. To his surprise it was Martin who argued back, although his voice was small and he sounded as though he very much wanted to be told why he was wrong.

“But… it’s the word of God.”

“It is the word of humans trying to interpret God. It is therefore as fallible as mankind.”

The silence that followed this was quite long and quite heavy. Steve clapped his hands together, “You know what? I think today is a good day for some personal Bible Study! Why doesn’t everybody find a spot where I can see you and just do some reading on your own? That sounds fun!”

It did actually, at least in comparison to this.

And so they read in silence until Steve glanced at his watch and announced, in a relieved tone of voice, that they could all run along to lunch. Aziraphale was pleased and hoped the meal would pass with limited harassment. It did, even Martin barely spoke to him as they ate, though he warmed up by ‘Cabin Time’.

Unfortunately so had Justin, who spent their period of relaxation mocking Martin for writing home to his mother and being friends with someone who, “Seems awful interested in making it seem like God like fags.”

After a brief moment in which Aziraphale reminded himself that Justin was not implying the Lord appreciated the occasional cigarette, he sat up abruptly. He had been made to guard and protect. He was not going to let any of this continue.

“Martin,” he said loudly and as though Justin were not standing two feet away. “You know I’d love to try fencing this afternoon. Would you be up for it?”

Martin’s eyes darted towards his harasser, trying to remind Aziraphale that making plans in front of him would end poorly. But Aziraphale only smiled and said, “Yes. I do believe fencing will be a great deal of fun.”

Aziraphale had been created with a sword in his hand, he’d sat at Arthur’s round table, he’d gotten into the occasional accidental rapier duel in the 17th century, and he’d taken three years of tap classes. If Justin wanted to follow them, let him do it.

And he did. There he was, right behind them, as Aziraphale lead the way to the empty field set aside for fencing. The counselor in charge of this activity very clearly had a limited understanding of the sport. Aziraphale could tell as much even though he hadn’t experienced it since dueling involved real blades and the occasional death. Still, he and Justin were given jackets that fit them closely enough and handed helmets to stop them from poking one another’s eyes out. Then they were offered swords with no explanation of what type they were or how to use them. The rules, as they were practiced at Camp Maple Lake, were simply ‘hit the other person three times’. No one here would be qualifying for the Olympics.

Aziraphale was glad for this over simplification. It would make his job easier.

Justin swung at him as though he were holding a baseball bat rather than an epee and Aziraphale stepped nimbly out of the way. As the nearly grown boy stumbled forward, Aziraphale smacked him. Before he’d regained his footing, he’d lost the match.

There were other campers waiting their turns but Justin did not back down. He growled and continued the fight. This was fine as far as Aziraphale was concerned. His blows were easy to dodge and parry, and he only became more frantic each time Aziraphale landed a hit.

The counselor in charge followed after them, desperately calling for them to stop as more campers gathered around. The fight was so absurdly unbalanced, particularly given the fact that on wing span alone Aziraphale should have been losing, that laughter spread throughout the crowd.

Aziraphale starting to grow bored. At a certain point this would become embarrassing for them both. On Justin’s next overly forceful lunge, instead of stepping back and smacking him upside the back of the head, Aziraphale held out his foot and watched as Justin toppled into the dirt. For the drama of it, he stuck the point of his sword into the ground by the older boy’s face, swept off his mask and put his foot on his back.

“You look like an adult, please do yourself favor and begin acting like one. You can start by leaving us alone, you overgrown twat.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hopefully that ending was a bit more uplifting for you guys than the last one. Not to say that either of the boys is out of (or even fully in) the woods yet, but a little victory is nice every once in a while.


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I posted this from my phone- so hopefully I didn’t mess up the formatting. 
> 
> Some very spoilers chapter specific warnings today:
> 
> -More religious conversations  
> -Gaslighting  
> -kidnapping

It was hot and the sun would not go down for another few hours. There was shade here though, on the front stoop of the church. The children had gone home some time ago, meaning he’d survived two days of Vacation Bible School already. It hadn’t been as awful as it might have been, he supposed. Edith had let him play the piano while the other kids were performing, let him make up a score to match whatever they were doing onstage. He’d had a headache, but it could’ve been worse.   
  
“Tony, sweetie, I brought you something to drink. I’d feel better if you had some.”

He looked up. Edith stood there, a juice box in one outstretched hand. He took it, wondering if she’d leave him alone, but she settled down beside him on the step.

“Are we staring at the road because you’re waiting for your mom to come home?”  
  
He nodded, mid-sip.

“Have you seen anything interesting?”

“Not really. Some teenagers went by on their bikes. A couple people walked their dogs. Most exciting thing was a weird guy in a coat. I thought he might pass out but he just stared at the church awhile and walked away.” Tony had only noticed because he’d thought, for a split second, that it might be his father. But the man had been skinnier and taller and his hair had been a lot lighter. 

“Well, if you ever see him again you come right inside. He might be homeless and in need of help, but I’d rather I approach him than you, okay?”

“ ‘Kay.” There was a long silence between them then. Tony didn’t feel much like talking. He wasn’t miserable but he wasn’t happy either. Vacation Bible School made him uncomfortable, his father being released made him anxious, Ezra being away made him feel empty. If he could have crawled into his bed and slept for the next couple weeks until at least two of his problems were solved, he would have been glad to do it. 

Edith put an arm around him. “Is that alright?”

“ ‘sfine.” It wasn’t a lie. Edith was the sort of person who mothered every child she came across and she gave the sort of hugs that exuded the same sort of warmth as fresh baked cookies. It was almost as good as having his mother home. Or Ezra.

He stayed there, in the safe crook of her arm, until a familiar little car appeared down the road, then he hopped up and chased it into the parking lot. Tony practically bowled his mother over when she opened the door and she laughed in surprise. 

“Hey there, kiddo. Did you miss me that much?”

Tony did not have to answer for himself. Edith turned the corner and explained. “He’s been a little glum this afternoon. He was waiting for you.”

Maddy hugged him tighter. “It’s been a tough couple days, hasn’t it? I’m sorry that Dr. Amanda couldn’t schedule an extra visit until tomorrow, but talking to her should help, huh?”

“Yeah, I guess.”

She held his hand as they walked toward their apartment, Edith following behind. She’d been eating most meals with them while Elijah and Ezra were out of town. 

Dinner that night was a simple affair, just soup and sandwiches which Edith had ready before long. As they sat at the kitchen table, the phone rang and Maddy hurried to get it, worry overcoming her expression before it was even off the hook. 

“Hello? Oh! Nina, how are you doing? At a bar?! Oh, I didn’t know you could buy one yourself. It does sound fun. No, I don’t think I should go out tonight. Hmm? Well, I’m not the only one who needs cheering up. I don’t want to leave Tony alone, you know? What? Are you serious? I mean, I guess. I could ask him. If you two don’t mind having a little boy at girls’ night, then sure.” 

Tony and Edith had gone quiet, both continuing to eat as they pretended not to eavesdrop. Maddy put the phone against her chest to block the sound and called out to him. “Hey, Tony, how do you feel about Karaoke?”

* * *

He had never gone out with his mother on a week night before or gotten to know any of the friends she made in her sober meetings. All of that changed when they stepped out of the car in front of a small house in Norford. Two women, dressed up like they were going out on the town even though they most certainly weren’t, greeted them at the door.  
His mother seemed excited to see them, but Tony pulled in closer to her. He thought perhaps he’d seen them before, on his only visit to his mother in her Sober Living home, but he couldn’t be sure. 

“Okay so, Tony these are Nina and Donna. They’re some of the women I met in recovery and we see each other at meeting every week. We’ve helped each other get through some hard times and they thought maybe we could both use some cheering up. Ladies, this is Tony.”

The clucked over him, commenting on his eyes and hair until he felt like he was six-years-old again. Before long, however, they’d been ushered into the house and on toward the living room. In the light of day the house, which belonged to Donna, would not have been particularly interesting. However, most of the lights had been turned off and a spinning lamp in rainbow colors had been set up in the center of the room. It transformed the space into something far more exciting, bringing a party atmosphere to the cans of soda and bowls of chips that she’d put out for their enjoyment.

“You really pulled out all the stops. Do you just, like, own a disco ball light?” Maddy asked.

Donna gestured to Nina with one hand. “The crazy lights and the karaoke machine are all hers. I just had more space.”

“Well, you need a little space for some good Karaoke. I used go all the time, especially after break ups. Oooh, my favorite was Tijuana Bar on Wednesdays. They used to have a contest where you could win like $100 bucks a night.”

“You ever win?” Donna asked.

“Hell no!” Then Nina looked at Tony and got quiet. “Sorry, little man, I’ll try and watch my language. Anyway, I had to stop going ‘cause, I mean, you know they’re always in bars. So I got myself a machine. Cost way more than I should’ve spent on it, but probably less than how much I used to spend on drinks.”

Tony sat himself down, safely between his mother and one arm of the couch. It took some time for Nina to figure out how to hook her machine up to someone else’s television set, but before long the screen lit up blue, white letters appeared, and she began to serenade them with “Girls Just Wanna Have Fun”. 

She wasn’t good. At all. By any stretch of the imagination. Yet, she was enjoying herself so much, was so infectiously bubbly, seemed to care so little about how she actually sounded, that it was difficult not to cheer her on. Tony dug into the chips and sat back as Donna more nervously, but more competently, made her way through Whitney Houston’s “I Wanna Dance with Somebody”. Then it was his mother’s turn, although the other two women had to pull her off the couch. 

She hemmed and hawed as they keyed up “I Will Survive”, but once the music started she threw herself into it. 

“ _At first I was afraid, I was petrified_  
_Kept thinking I could never live without you by my side_  
_But then I spent so many nights thinking how you did me wrong_  
_And I grew strong_  
_And I learned how to get along_ ”

It was at this point that Tony decided he very much liked his mother’s friends. He joined them in whooping and whistling until his mother had made it all the way through the song. She bowed low and handed the microphone back to Nina.

“Alright, little man. Your turn next.”

“I’m not sure you want to do that,” Maddy said, though she was grinning.

“Why can’t he sing? I’m sure he can find something he likes on the ‘Girls’ Night Out’ karaoke cd.”

“It’s not that. It’s just, once you give my kid a microphone, you’re going to have to pry it out of his hands if you want another turn.”

“I’m not even sure I’ll like it,” Tony insisted. Maddy raised an eyebrow.

Donna leaned back and swirled her can of Sprite as though it were something fancy. “I for one, want to hear Westwich’s talent show champion, even if I never get another turn. Give him the mic, Nina.”

The women conferred over the song list, Maddy pointing out which songs she thought he’d know. When they’d made a selection the title popped up on the screen and Tony launched into “Kids in America”. 

His mother had been right; when the song ended he wanted to go again. It took some persuading for him to wait for his turn to come back around so that he could get a chance at “Love is a Battlefield” and then the entire collected works of the Bangles. 

At some point his mother glanced at her watch and panicked. “Holy crap it’s almost ten. I’ve got to get him to bed.”

The women all turned to look at Tony, who was currently standing on one of Donna’s chairs performing “Walk like an Egyptian” complete with dance. 

His arms fell in disappointment, “Do we really have to go?”

“Sorry, Kiddo. I’ve got work and you’ve got Vacation Bible School.”

“What if I told you I’ve learned more tonight than I possibly could at Vacation Bible School?” Tony asked. He was only being honest.

“You’re not staying home alone so that’s not really relevant.”

With a sigh he handed the mic back to Nina.

“Thank you both for letting me come.”

“No problem, little man. You’re a pretty cool kid.”

“She’s right,” added Donna. “It was great to meet you.”

Back in the car, Tony’s head began to nod and his eyes felt heavy. He’d had trouble sleeping the past few nights but he didn’t think that would happen now. Maybe all he needed was to have karaoke every evening until Ezra was back.

* * *

Aziraphale had gotten in trouble. So had Justin, of course, but his father wasn’t an attending chaperone. Aziraphale had been forced to sit in the nearly empty Mess Hall, while Elijah lectured him about his use of language and nonviolent solutions. This had been undercut by the fact that Elijah was clearly, overwhelmingly, proud of him. “You really shouldn’t have tripped him” lost a lot of its effect when followed by “I had no idea you were such a talented fencer. We could sign you up for lessons if you want!”. 

Aziraphale didn’t want but he coasted on Elijah’s pride long enough to get himself back to the crafting station on Wednesday morning. 

A counselor had shown them how to make friendship bracelets, provided them with a variety of colors of string, and left the campers to their own devices. There had been no attempt to connect the activity back to the Lord this time, and so Aziraphale decided this was the moment to make something for Anthony. Red and black string in his hands, he retreated to a well shaded picnic table at one edge of the Common Area and got to work.

Martin followed after him.

They did not speak much. Aziraphale was enjoying the serenity of morning, as the sounds of reveling campers was distant enough to be ambient. Occasionally Martin would remark about the weather or breakfast or last night’s campfire, but Aziraphale’s responses were short. He wanted a little silence.

That changed, however, when Martin spoke in a nervous tone. “Hey, Ezra, I wanted to ask you something about yesterday…”

Aziraphale put his crafting aside to give the boy his full attention. After 6,000 years he knew the sound of a human who needed to be heard. “Of course. What is it?”

“It’s… During Bible Study yesterday… Were you just trying to make Justin feel stupid or did you really mean what you said? About… about everything?” Martin’s eyes were pleading.

“I wouldn’t have said it if I hadn’t meant it. Humans… people ascribe all manner of things to the Lord, but often it’s a matter of justifying what they already believe rather than an earnest attempt at understanding the Almighty. Ignoring the clearly stated message of loving one another to go nitpicking for a few verses one can use as permission to hate a group of people seems disingenuous to me.”

Aziraphale looked at Martin, who was aimlessly twisting colored string between his fingers. “Does that answer your question?”

He nodded, although without much enthusiasm. “It’s just… I’ve always loved church, you know? I like being in a room where everyone is hearing the word of God and feeling that same power at the same time. It makes me feel like I’m part of something bigger than myself. There’s that… that shared faith that brings us all together and in that moment, I’ve always felt at peace. I feel like church has made me a better person. It’s encouraged me to help others and make good choices. I don’t want to give that up.”

Aziraphale placed a fatherly hand on the poor boy’s knee. “Why ever should you?”

“I don’t know…” Martin blushed and shrugged. “I… I haven’t been feeling like I belong so much anymore. But I… I kind of like the way you put things. It makes me feel like I don’t… like I don’t have to give it all up just because I don’t agree with a piece of it.”

“I’m glad.” Aziraphale gave him a warm smile and hoped it had the same effect even without his angelic powers. He had not enjoyed all of his heavenly duties, but providing comfort to humans had always felt right. 

Picking up his bracelet again, to provide Martin a little distance and give him the chance to pull back if he felt the need, Aziraphale asked,

“Is there anything else you wanted to talk about?”

The poor dear was crimson now, right up to his ears. Whatever he’d been planning to say, however, was interrupted. Elijah walked up to them.

“Hey there, boys! How’s the morning treating you?”

“Fine, Reverend. We’re fine.” Martin fumbled, dropping his bracelet in the dirt. He laughed nervously. “Actually, I’m not really good at this.”

“Well, camp is about trying new things more than mastering them.”

Aziraphale tied off his expertly woven bracelet and hid it in his pocket. “I think the activity period is nearly over anyway. No one’s going to mind if you don’t finish it.”

“Yeah, the trumpet should be sounding any minute. That’s actually why I came to join you two. Steve asked me to sit in on your Bible Study. He said things got a little heated yesterday, and he’d appreciate having an actual pastor on hand to answer questions. Where does Cabin 3 usually meet up?”

Martin and Aziraphale glanced at one another and then Martin scrambled up to lead the way. They met with the rest of their group outside of Cabin 3.

Justin was no longer among them. He’d been swapped with another boy from his church and was now a member of Cabin 1. This meant that Westwich’s Kyle would be more pleasant as well. He was a follower by nature and took on the personality of whoever he glommed onto. 

Counselor Steve guided them into the woods, taking them a little farther than usual, to a sunny spot atop a hill which offered a lovely view of Maple Lake. “Okay campers, we’ve got a guest who’ll be running today’s discussion. For those of you who don’t know him, this is Pastor Clark from Westwich Methodist! He’s one of their chaperones and he’s Ezra’s dad.”

Cabin 3 gave a polite round of applause. They already knew everything Steve had told them. Kyle had mentioned it on their first night, in an attempt to divert Justin’s bullying away from Aziraphale. It hadn’t been a sign of morality or he would have defended Martin too. Kyle simply hadn’t wanted to get in trouble.

“It’s nice to meet all of you. There’s a particular passage that I wanted to share and discuss with you all. I know that being a teenager can totally stink sometimes. You’re dealing with a lot and it’s easy for adults to forget that. And look, I know, for a lot of you, when you look forward to camp every summer it’s the lake and the games and the girls that you’re thinking about.” An awkward bit of laughter went around the circle. “But my hope for you is that you take something deeper away from this camp, that when you go home you’ve strengthened your faith. That you feel more connected with God, so that when you’re back dealing with temptations and parents and school and growing up, you’ve got something to turn to. On that note, if you could all open your bibles to Romans 8:18, I’d like to read from there.”

The selection he’d made dealt with human suffering and the glory that awaited them in heaven if only they’d trust in the Lord. The boys had plenty to say on the topic and in the absence of Justin, Martin raised his hand more than anybody. Aziraphale, however, said very little. He was too busy thinking about the afterlife.

It had never been his department and he didn’t honestly know what it was like for humans. He hoped, but didn’t quite believe, that it was as lovely for them as they always made it sound. Heaven was boring, excruciatingly so, but that was from an angel’s perspective. Maybe things were better for the human souls. Perhaps it was like any service industry: more enjoyable for the visitor than for those who worked behind the scenes. He’d have liked to discuss it with Crowley.

Elijah was talking again. “My favorite part of this passage is toward the end, 8:28. _‘And we know that all things work together for good to those who love God, to those who are called according to His purpose.’_ How do you guys read that?”

“It’s like God’s got a plan and if we just trust in him things’ll turn out alright,” Kyle said.

“That’s good. That’s always an idea I’ve found comforting in times when life is getting difficult. Sometimes, when it feels like there’s nothing I can do, I’ve just got to follow the Lord’s word and trust that God’s plan for me is a good one.” Elijah looked around the group.

“Buddy, you’ve been really quiet today. What do you want to add?”

Aziraphale tried to be polite. “Well, er, I… I don’t quite feel that one should completely give up the reigns, so to speak.”

He had believed in simply trusting in the ultimate good of heaven, to an extent, for millennia. In The End he had not found it affective.

“I feel like we’ve had this conversation before,” Elijah said with a smile. “You told me God expected us to help one another rather than simply assuming that God will take care of things.”

“Right, when we were talking about taking Anthony in. I think that rather proved my case.”

“That’s fair but there are times when things are out of your hands. Sometimes there’s really nothing you can do but let go and let God.”

Aziraphale, who was starting to enjoy a good theological discussion, forgot to temper himself. “Alright, let’s take that as an assumption. There are times when everything is out of your hands and the Almighty’s plan is going to proceed despite your Free Will. I find it odd that people assume things will go well for them in particular. It’s a feat of egotism in more ways than one.”

No one interrupted so he barreled onward, “I mean, first of all there’s the matter of assuming that the Lord takes a particular interest in the lives of every individual human, that there is a plan for you, specifically, and that, moreover, that plan will end well. How do you know that the plan doesn’t involve you dying in some horrendous fashion? Some people do. If there’s a plan for everything, that person’s plan was to… was to… drown or starve or get trampled to death. Assuming that you personally got the good plan because of your faith, is insulting to everyone who ends in suffering. I’d argue that isn’t even what the passage is saying. The rest of it is about the glory of heaven. That’s the plan that, it seems to me, to be talking about.”  
  
“Well, Ez I-”

“And then there’s the other bit. Assuming the Lord has a plan that humans are capable of understanding shows such a lack of imagination. Isn’t the whole idea that the Lord is Almighty? Why then would we, would humans, even angels, ever feel that they could fully know it? That we could look at an action or an event and say ‘it’s part of God’s plan’ as though we can understand it. The plan… the plan is ineffable. It’s beyond us. It’s larger than us. That’s the whole point.”  
  
On a whole, the conversation would have been better in the back of his book shop with Crowley and a bottle of wine, but he’d missed this sort of conversation. The debate, the passion, the back and forth of it all. 

Only no one was back and forthing with him.   
  
Somewhere in the distance a trumpet sounded, calling them all to lunch. Steve dismissed the group and the other campers grabbed their bibles and hurried off, as though they wanted to get as far from Aziraphale as possible. Only Martin stayed long enough to ask quietly, “Are you coming to lunch?”

Elijah, who’d stayed sitting, cleared his throat. “I think my son and I are going to eat together, just the two of us, today.”

Martin nodded and followed the other boys.

“But we haven’t anything to eat,” Aziraphale protested. 

Elijah dug into his bag and pulled out a granola bar. “This should tide you over. I want to talk.”

Aziraphale hmphed, sat back down closer to the pastor, and bit into a rock solid rectangle. He frowned at the ground. “How have I failed to live up to your expectations this time?”

“That’s not…” Elijah sighed. “That’s not it, buddy. I’m not mad. I just… I want to talk.”

“There must be a reason.”

“There is. I… I’ve seen a lot of different sides to you since we got here and some of them have made me really proud and happy for you. But some of them worry me a little. You’ve never been particularly open with me or your mother and I was kind of hoping, if we could get away from everything else for a little, you’d talk to me. I want to know what’s going on in your life.”

“Let’s start with what worries you and work from there.” Aziraphale could hear the pettiness in his own voice and didn’t particularly care.

“Well, you got in a fight yesterday and Steve told me you were basically dismissing the Bible during yesterday’s talk. Based on what you said today it was probably more nuanced than that, but still.”

“In both cases I was trying to stop someone from constantly harassing a child. Justin made his biblical selections based on how much discomfort he could cause the group. My goal was to shut him up.” Aziraphale looked Elijah in the eye. “And even if he hadn’t, what is the point of a discussion if there’s an expected answer before it even begins?”

“Well, to try and help everyone understand what the Lord wants from us. To help people know how to live their lives.” Elijah was quiet for a while, though he was clearly not done speaking. “Look, I don’t mind those kinds of discussions, but I’m not sure church camp Bible Study is the place for them. This is more a moment to listen and go with the group.”

Aziraphale suspected that Elijah minded ‘those kinds of discussions’ more than he let on. “If you’d like me to toe the line a bit more, I will do so.”

“I know you’re annoyed with me but I think you’ve had some good times at camp so far. You’ve made a friend. You’ve got someone you can complain about your dad too, that’s a win. You didn’t have that before.”

He looked at Elijah in confusion, “Yes, I did.” 

“Who? I know your dance friends haven’t been around that much and you’ve never had any of the theater kids over. You’ve spent your whole freshman year with no one to talk to, no one to complain about school or parents or anything to. Who are you talking to?”

“Anthony.”

“Ezra, I know you adore him but he’s ten-years-old.” Elijah’s face was an odd mix of smile and pity. “He doesn’t get all the stuff you’re going through. And you can’t enjoy hearing him complain about Pokey man cards and learning the recorder.”

“We don’t have to be going through the same things to listen to one another. And Anthony does one better than that, he pays enough attention that he always seems to know what’s wrong or at least to know when it’s the right moment to ask so that I’ll actually talk. I mean, you say I have no one to complain about you with. When he was six-years-old he realized I was uncomfortable with you talking to me about having no friends in middle school and waged a weeks long interference operation in which he dressed as Satan. Of course we talk about you.”

“ _That’s_ what the costume was about?”

“Yes.” Aziraphale let out a breath, trying to be less agitated. “I know you worry about me and it’s understandable that you want to push me into making more friends my own age. But that doesn’t mean he shouldn’t count. He’s my best friend.”

Elijah stood up, offering a hand to help Aziraphale to his feet. “Ezra, I’ve seen you really putting yourself out there this week. If you can give this your all, then I can try to see things a little differently. I honestly always thought you felt like you had to look out for him more than you saw him as a friend.”

Aziraphale was taken aback. “I have to look out for him _because_ he’s my friend.”

* * *

Westwich Methodist Vacation Bible School 2001 had finished being wild about the animals of Eden and was now being wild about the animals on Noah’s ark. It was the same rigmarole all over again. The fourth and fifth graders had spent the morning turning the story into a play of their very own creation while the younger children practiced making animal noises in the rooms upstairs.

Tony had spent all morning waiting for lunch.

It wasn’t the food he wanted so much as a break. He’d been working hard to ignore everything around him, mostly by seeing if he could remember all the lyrics to “Eternal Flame”, but it only got him so far. In the end lunch only made things worse. Edith and the other mothers had given out animal crackers and Tony had accidently dropped one into his Fruit Punch.

He’d sat there and watched. The lion had floated at first, but then its little body began to turn red and bloat as it soaked up the surrounding liquid. Too heavy now to keep its buoyancy, the bready corpse sunk beneath the surface, disintegrating as it went. He hadn’t eaten anything after that.  
  
So now he sat in the sanctuary, the piping voices of his fellow children raised aloft in song all around him. Edith lead them on the piano and, while he normally loved to hear her play, Tony fought the urge to cover his ears. He couldn’t distract himself with other songs when everyone around him would not shut up.

“ _The Lord said to Noah there’s gonna be a floody-floody_

_The Lord said to Noah there’s gonna be a floody-floody_

_Get those children out of the muddy-muddy_  
_Children of the Lord_.”

They’d sang it three times already, not including the first time Edith had played it, and Tony did not think he could handle it much longer. He curled his legs up and looped his fingers through his laces, desperate for anything else to put his mind to. 

Then the piano paused, although the song wasn’t over, and Edith looked at him across the crowd of children. Not unkindly, she asked, “Tony, you have such a strong voice. Why aren’t you singing?”

Tony did not like Sunday school. He had never liked Sunday school. He went because it was important to the Clarks and the Clarks were important to he and his mother. That was the same reason he’d always kept quiet during it. 

Only now Edith had asked him directly and if he opened his mouth they were going to have problems.

“Is something wrong?” She urged.

Tony opened his mouth. “Why are we singing a cute song about a story where almost everyone dies? That’s what happened, right? In the story God kills everybody. Everybody! Even babies, right? How could God kill babies? And like, if the world was so bad that God just had to drown everybody, does that mean God messed up? And even then, how can a baby be so messed up that you’ve got to go and drown it? Why would God do such mean awful things? Why would people worship a mean God? And even if everyone was awful before, it’s not like there’s not awful people now. Why does God let bad people exist now but not before? Why does God let bad things happen?”

Everyone was staring at him. Most of the other children had their mouths hanging open, shocked either by what he had said or that he’d dared to say it. At least one of the little ones began to cry. All three of the mothers running the class had gone pale.

Edith barely managed to speak. “Tony. We’ll talk later.”

“But I only-”

“Later. Tony. Please, just go wait outside. Please. I’ll come talk with you later.”

Trying with all his might to look as though he could not care less, Tony got up from his pew and sauntered down the aisle and out the door. Once it had closed behind him, however, he whirled around and kicked it before sinking down and fuming on the steps. 

He hated everything. He hated the dog barking next door, he hated the grass, the bees, and that same weird blonde man back across the street who didn’t know how to dress for the summer. Tony stuck his tongue out, then put his head in his hands.

He didn’t even want to be there in the first place. Why should he care if he’d gotten kicked out? Only, it wasn’t fair. He hadn’t done anything wrong. She’d asked why he wasn’t singing and he’d told her what was bothering him. It wasn’t his fault she hadn’t been prepared for any of it. It wasn’t his fault they didn’t want him.

Tony sat, steaming on the church’s stoop, only growing angrier when the muffled sound of singing voices sounded through the heavy door. So that was it. They were just going to keep on as if nothing had happened, as though he weren’t suffering out here in the summer humidity.

There was nothing to do but be angry, nothing really to look at. The weird man from before had left, the bees had gone to find other flowers, the dog had been brought back inside. There were only the ants crawling about on the pavement by his feet, redirecting their path home to make their way around his sneakers. Tony considered stomping on them just because he could. After all, God did it. Only Tony would have felt bad so he just glared at them instead. 

He might have stayed that way, frowning at the insects, until Edith came out to get him, but a car rolled up in front of the church. Tony heard it before he saw it, the sound of slowing tires as they crushed any little pebbles that had fallen by the curb. 

Squinting, he raised his head. It was an older car, blocky, the way most of them had looked when he was very little. The windows were tinted and that, combined with the glare of the sun, made it impossible to see within. The only thing Tony could really tell is that they’d parked oddly, crossing the road so that the driver’s door was right beside the sidewalk.   
Staring was rude but Tony’s curiosity was getting the better of him. He could not look away as the window rolled down. 

Tony did not recognize the man at first. The face was thinner than it was in his foggy memories, the beard far thicker, the circles beneath the eyes darker. Benjamin Drake’s voice, however, was unchanged and the very sound of it made the hair stand up on the back of his neck.

“Tony, wow. Look how big you’ve gotten. I can’t believe I’ve missed so much time with you.” The door began to open but Tony was frozen on the stoop. His father stepped out and held his arms wide. “I’ve missed you, pal. Come give your old man a hug!”

Tony did not move. “You’re… you’re not supposed to be here.”

“Who told you that?” Benjamin asked, as though the idea were some silly childish fantasy. He even laughed. “You’re my kid, of course I’m allowed to see you.”

“Not… not without permission. You’ve got to ask the courts or something.” Tony was not certain what he was saying was true. That was how he thought it worked, but he wasn’t certain. He jumped to something that felt clearer. “You hurt me. You hurt Mom even worse.” 

Benjamin Drake contorted his face into a perfect image of contrition. “Tony, I know I had a temper. I know I yelled and got a little rough every once in a while, but I’ve served my time. I’ve paid my debt. And it was never as bad as I’m sure your mother has made it sound. I mean, how well do either of you even remember that time? You were so little and you know your mom wasn’t well.”

Tony’s father was not just a liar but an excellent one. Even though he knew better, Tony began to doubt himself, began to doubt his own memories. Perhaps things hadn’t been quite so bad as he thought they’d been. He stood up. 

He ought to go inside, he ought to get Edith, only she didn’t want him. She’d looked at him with disappointment and cast him out from the church. He wasn’t supposed to go back in. He faltered on the steps, uncertain which way to go.

“You know how I found you?” Benjamin Drake said, his voice syrupy and gentle. “I saw your picture in the paper, saw the little interview where you mentioned learning music at the church. I had no idea you were so talented. I can’t tell you how proud I was.”

“What do you want?” Tony had meant for it to sound tough but it came out a bit too curious, a bit too pleading. 

His father smiled. “Just to see you mostly. Just to know that my boy is doing alright. I wouldn’t mind celebrating a little either. Celebrating and apologizing. Would you let your old man take you out for lunch? You can pick the place.”

Tony felt off kilter, he had all morning, and his father’s arrival only made it worse. He was being offered pride on a day when he’d felt shamed. It was tempting.

Still, he knew enough not to get in the car, “I already ate.”

“Alright, maybe some other time then.” His dad gave him a half-hearted smile, “Can I at least have a hug?”

That, Tony supposed, would be alright. Slowly, uncertainly, he left the church’s stoop and approached his father. Benjamin Drake was tall and sturdy, and when he took Tony in his arms the boy felt a moment of absolute terror. But the hug was warm and unexpectedly gentle and Tony didn’t feel so frightened any more.

Then the back door of his father’s car opened and the lanky blonde man in the dirty trench coat stepped out. He sneered and snapped his fingers. Tony collapsed. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m sorry 🥺


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Specific Warnings:  
> -Panic Attacks  
> -Gas lighting  
> -Child Abuse  
> -Misuse of Sleep Medication  
> (And a happy ending too. I promise.)

Aziraphale had elected to go hiking during the afternoon activity block. He’d wanted a chance to get away from the camp, from the campers, from Elijah. He wasn’t allowed to go off on his own, of course, but the group he went with was mercifully small. The lake activities were available after lunch and so most would-be hikers chose to go in the morning.

It was quiet and pleasant out among the trees, particularly in the latter half of the journey when his fellow campers grew more tired and introspective. The walk gave him time to consider some of his own recent actions. Aziraphale supposed he ought to dial it back a bit during Bible Study, at least so long as no one was harassing anyone else. He’d decided earlier that year that there were some conversations he was not ready to have with either Elijah or Edith. If he kept sticking his neck out he was going to get himself in a spot of trouble.

By the time they made it back to camp Aziraphale was feeling more at peace, more centered. That was the problem really, he hadn’t had enough time to himself. He was the sort of being that needed space, that needed to be left alone upon occasion. There was far too much togetherness at camp; it made him tetchy.

Feeling back to sorts and glad that the next block was free time, Aziraphale went so far as to search out Martin himself. He found the boy helping to clean up from the performance art activity. Whatever they’d been doing looked as though it had been a fair bit of fun. They were currently piling plastic helmets and prop swords back into a bin.

“Martin, I’m sorry I left you for the afternoon block but I must say the walk has helped me clear my head. Did you enjoy yourself?”

Martin smiled, his sallow face brightening for just a moment before it clouded again. “I did have fun actually, yeah. But, um, Ezra, your Dad was looking for you a while ago. One of the counselors told him you’d gone on the hike and wouldn’t be back until 3:45, so I wouldn’t be surprised if he tries to find you again. He seemed kind of worried.”

The tension that lived in Aziraphale’s shoulders returned from its brief vacation. “What did I do now? I haven’t been away long enough to have found some new way to disappoint him.”

He worried his lip as his imagination ran circles. Had Steve been more explicit about the argument he’d made during the other day’s Bible discussion? What else could it possibly be?

“I dunno. I think there was a phone call or something. One of the counselors made him go up to the Welcome Center first.”

Before panic could fully grip him, Aziraphale caught sight of Elijah walking toward him down the camp’s main path. He didn’t wait. He gave Martin a brief nod and then hurried to meet the pastor half way.

Elijah’s face was grey and drawn. He tried to smile in greeting and utterly failed.

“What’s happened?”

“Let’s walk a little, Ez. We can talk on our way back to the Welcome Center.” He put an arm around Aziraphale’s shoulder and led him away from the other campers. They were still running, still shouting, still laughing, but the blood in Aziraphale’s ears was pumping so hard he could hardly hear them.

“This is killing me, please tell me. I can’t wait.”

“Alright, I just wanted a little distance from everyone else.” Elijah sighed more heavily than Aziraphale had ever heard. “I got a call from your mother about forty-five minutes ago. Tony is missing. No one’s seen him for a few hours.”

Human bodies are strange things capable of carrying out all sorts of actions without being told. Aziraphale felt a number of them at once. He felt cold suddenly and yet his palms began to sweat. The pounding in his ears grew worse. His vision briefly blurred. He needed to sit. He had to keep moving. He could not get his thoughts out.

“Hours? A few… a few hours. Have… have… have they called anyone? Has this been reported? Where is he?”

Elijah stopped walking to embrace him. It was not merely a hug but a sort of full body support- tight enough to center him, strong enough to keep him from collapsing entirely.

“Yes, they’ve called people. The police are involved, they’ve got all sorts of people working on it. They’ve got a couple ideas about where he might be. Just, stay with me buddy. I’ll tell you more when we’re near the phone. We’ll get you a place to sit and a glass of water and I’ll tell you everything I know. Alright?”

Aziraphale nodded and let himself be lead onward because there was nothing else he could think to do. The walk to the Welcome Center was not long but it felt like an eternity. At some other time he might have noted how much more civilized the building was compared to the rustic aesthetic of the rest of the camp. He might have appreciated the air conditioning, might have thought how nice it was settle onto furniture with actual cushions and support. Just now, however, he walked through it all as a dream. He sat because Elijah directed him too. He drank because water was put in his hands. There was no part of him capable of focusing on anything but Anthony.

When he’d drunk and some warmth came back into his skin, Elijah made eye contact and spoke again. “So I talked with your mother and with one of the officers who have gotten involved. There are two, possibly three, theories about where Tony might be. The first is the one we’re sort of hoping for. Your mother has reason to think he was upset with her and they think he might have run away on his own. The best guess as to where he might be headed is right here. They asked us to keep an eye out for him in case he’s trying to get to you.”

“What did she do to upset him?” Aziraphale, in his panic, immediately took Anthony’s side. “And how is _that_ the best outcome? What’s the other theory?”

Elijah took Aziraphale’s hand and held it tightly between them. “The other theory… the one that Maddy is convinced of, is that his father may have taken him.”

“He’s in prison. He couldn’t have touched him. He’s in prison.” Aziraphale could hear his own voice, high with panic, but felt as though it belonged to someone else.

“He was released last weekend, apparently. Maddy found out the same day we left for camp. There have also been reports of a strange man around the neighborhood. They’re looking in to that too. They think it might be connected. They’re looking into everything.”

“I shouldn’t have left,” Aziraphale whispered, more to himself than to Elijah. He kept speaking, voice growing louder as he went. “I shouldn’t have come here. I should have stayed with him. He needs me. I was supposed to watch out for him and I left. You took me here! Why did you take me here? If I’d been home none of this wouldn’t’ve happened. None of this would have happened!”

He was crying. He was shouting. Sadness and panic and fury all welling up in him at once. For a moment he thought he might have forgotten how to breathe.

“Ez. Ez. Stay with me, buddy.” Elijah was still holding his hand. He hadn’t stopped. “Can you breathe with me, Ezra? In. Out. There you go. In. Out. In. Out. Okay, just like that. Do you need more water? Tell me if there’s anything you need.”

“I need… We need… We need to go home. We need to help find him.” Aziraphale felt better than he had a minute prior but only enough to start giving his panic direction.

“The officer I spoke to wants us to stay here. If it’s his dad then we’re not going to be much use and, if he’s run off, we need to be here in case he shows up.”

“Why do they even think that’s a possibility? If he were going to follow after us, I hardly think he’d have waited half a week.”

“According to your mom, he got himself in a bit of trouble during Bible School today. He made a scene during one of the lessons, threw out all these questions that needed a lot more time and nuance to work through than she could really give him with all those other kids there. She asked him to wait outside until she had the time to talk to him properly. That was the last time anyone saw him. She feels just awful about it now.”

“She should!” Aziraphale’s anger had found a target. He’d rarely been furious with Edith, but he certainly was now. “How could she do that to him? How could she make him feel wretched just for asking questions? What’s the bloody point of a teaching children if they can’t wonder about anything? She wants to become a teacher and that’s how she reacts? Maybe he ran off or maybe he was abducted off the damned stoop, either way she’s at fault. He wouldn’t have been there without her. If they never find him I hope she spends the rest of her days feeling wretched over it.”

If Elijah wanted to fly to his wife’s defense, he swallowed that down. He spoke again in the same calm voice he’d used before. “Ezra, they’re going to find him. It’s going to be alright. There’s nothing we can do right now. We just have to trust in-”

“In God’s plan? For _him_?” Aziraphale could feel himself growing hysterical again. “We already discussed this. Why do you assume it will work out? She doesn’t care about him. She wouldn’t have thrown him out otherwise!”

Later, Aziraphale would realize Elijah must have assumed he’d slipped back into talking about Edith. He hadn’t. It didn’t matter much where he’d been going with the rant anyway. He’d lost himself entirely to tears and overwhelming sadness. There was nothing he could do, nothing he could say. He let Elijah hold him and he wept.

* * *

There had been nothing, utter darkness, and then, all at once, Tony was awake. He was in the back of a car, one that reeked of fast food, nicotine and something far worse. No one had bothered to buckle him in or sit him up and so his face was stuck to faux-leather seats. He wanted to move, wanted to peal himself up, but he was starting to remember where he’d been last. Tony did not want to draw attention to himself.

“Fuck. Fuck! What was I thinking? I just got out. What did you do to him anyway? If he doesn’t wake up, we’re fucked.” Tony’s father sounded panicked, voice higher than normal although he was straining not to shout.

There was someone else in the car with them and he spoke in a voice that made Tony’s head ache. The accent was something like Ezra’s but the tone was utterly different, cold where Ezra’s was warm, unnerving where Ezra’s was comforting. “You wanted revenge, didn’t you? On that woman of yours? I’m sure it’s working. The longer you keep a hold of him the worse it’ll be. Of course I don’t see why we don’t just end the little bugger, right here and now.”

“He’s mine; I’m not gonna kill him and I’m not giving him back. He’s mine.” Tony heard the sound of someone turning in their seat. “The fuck did you do to him? Why is he still out?”

“I’m not doing anything to him. The little snake is awake, see?” A large hand grabbed Tony by the shoulder and shook him until he was forced to open his eyes. Staring back at him were his father and the strange, tall, blonde man he’d seen lurking across the street from the church.

“Hey Tony, you passed out on me. You feeling any better?” Benjamin Drake spoke as gently as he could. “I bet you’re hungry, huh? I got something here for you.”

“I’m not hungry. I wanna go home. Mom’s gonna be worried.” Tony was proud of how little his voice shook.

“You’re hungry, Tony. We pulled over and got you something. Here. Sit up. It’d be rude to say no.”

Unsure what else to do, Tony pushed himself uneasily into a sitting position and took the Happy Meal bag that was shoved in his direction. Despite everything, he found he was hungry. He’d barely touched his lunch that afternoon and, according to the clock on the dashboard, it was nearly 5:00. Without looking away from his father and the off putting stranger, he reached into the bag and began to stuff fries into his mouth.

They watched him right back.

Tony had seen videos about being kidnapped before in school, although they’d always made it sound like it was something only strangers did and they never said what to do once they had you. He glanced out the window and did not recognize the world around him. They were in some McDonald’s parking lot somewhere, surrounded by other businesses, auto dealerships, gas stations, some place that had closed down and boarded up their windows. Unfamiliar as it was, the area was also too generic to give him any clues as to his whereabouts. He’d never find his way home from here but maybe, if he ran screaming into the restaurant, someone would help him. Tony let his left hand creep closer to the door.

He fumbled for the handle and found the child locks were on. The door wouldn’t open.

Benjamin reached out and yanked him back to the center of the seat, away from either door. “Don’t you dare touch that. Do you want me to get angry, Tony? Because you’re making me angry.”

His grip was tight, too tight, and Tony whimpered until his father let go. The blonde man laughed.

“I’m trying to be nice,” Benjamin Drake said fiercely. “I want us to have a nice time. If that’s gonna happen, you’re going to have to behave yourself. I’d think, at ten-years-old, you’d be better at controlling yourself than you were the last time I saw you. Now, can you promise me that you won’t be difficult?”

Tony nodded, shrinking in on himself as he tried to finish eating. He was hungry, he really was, but his throat felt thick and he found it hard to swallow. Eating only became more difficult when he unearthed his Happy Meal Toy and found a plush key chain of Winnie the Pooh. It reminded him of Ezra. It reminded him of being safe.

Tony began to cry.

The blonde man found this hilarious. Benjamin Drake did not. “For fuck’s sake, Tony, you’re too old to cry. And what are you even crying about? We’re having a nice time!”

Stuffing the small bear into one of his pockets, Tony forced himself to stifle his sobs.

“Good boy. See, you’re fine. We’re all having a great time. I don’t want to hear you cry again.”

“I’m not having a good time. I hate these car things,” the blonde man said. “When can we get out of here?”

“ _We’re_ not leaving just yet but _you_ can leave whenever you want to.” Benjamin’s face contorted with confusion, “I don’t even know why you helped me with this. The fuck do you get out of it anyway?”

“You’re not asking questions,” the blonde man told him and apparently it was true.

Benjamin seemed to forget whatever he’d just been saying and turned his attention back to Tony. “Good boy. You’ve finished everything I gave you and now I’ve got a special treat just for summer.”

He handed back a McDonald’s cup, cold enough that the outside was thick with condensation. The lid had already been removed and Tony could see the contents clearly. His father had spent the extra money to get him a milkshake instead of whatever drink came free with the Happy Meal. This only made Tony suspicious.

“I’m all full now. Thanks.”

Benjamin was not having it. “I’m being a good father and you’re going to be rude to me? You said you’d be a good boy, Tony. Don’t make me mad.”

So Tony had to drink it because what else could he do? Maybe wherever they went next would be better. Maybe somewhere new would offer him a chance to escape. As he drank, however, he realized that wasn’t true. The shake didn’t taste right and the more he had, the worse he felt. He began to sweat. He felt drowsy, disoriented. His father had him trapped.

Tony would never get out on his own.

* * *

They had stayed in the Welcome Center, sitting by the phone for hours. Each time it rang every nerve in Aziraphale’s body buzzed with hope, but he was only ever disappointed. Sometimes the call was for the camp, sometime it was his mother checking in, telling them that nothing had happened and that Maddy was a mess. Aziraphale had picked up the phone on the first of these calls and been so uncharitable in his assessment of her behavior that Elijah hadn’t let him touch the phone again.

The last time it rang was at 9:00. Tony had been missing for nearly eight hours now. She’d call again in the morning unless something happened sooner. They ought to get some rest. It wouldn’t do to harm themselves with worrying.

When Elijah hung up the phone, he stood and held a hand out for Aziraphale. “She’s right, bud. We need to take care of ourselves too. You barely touched the dinner they brought us and staying up all night isn’t going to help anybody.”

“Neither will sleeping,” Aziraphale answered him. “How can you expect me to just go to sleep when he’s out there, somewhere, terrified?”

“If there’s a call, the counselor on duty will get us. I’m not letting you sit up all night staring anxiously at the phone. Even just putting your head down will help a little. We’re all worried about him, Ezra, but torturing ourselves isn’t going to help.”

“It’s been eight hours. He’s a smart boy, if he was trying to get to us he’d have done it already. That means it must have been his father. What if he’s been hurt? What if he’s been killed?” He had not voiced that thought before. He’d been too terrified to let it pass his lips. What would happen? Would Crowley be judged? Would he remain a soul? Become a demon again? What if this life was the end of it? What if they never had a chance to see each other again? He’d wasted so much time.

Aziraphale was panicking again. His heart, his breath, everything running away without him. Elijah put a leveling hand upon his shoulder before he could spiral back into hysteria. “What can I do, buddy? Right now, what can I do? Do you want to sleep in the chaperone cabin so you don’t have to deal with all the kids? Do you want me to sit with you in the chapel? What can I do?”

“The chapel?”

“I know… I know we don’t see eye to eye on everything and if you don’t think it will help just say so. But I know, for me, when I’m in a situation where there’s nothing I can do, turning to God makes me feel better. There’s nothing we can do right now, Ez. It might help to give it a shot.” Elijah looked plaintive, desperate to find something that would make Aziraphale feel better.

In a way, he had. Aziraphale could feel a new emotion coming in to replace his panic, one he was far less familiar with. He held onto it as he spoke. “I think, I would like to go to the chapel. But I’d like to be there alone.”

Elijah nodded, “Sure bud, whatever you need.”

They walked there together, beneath a silvery moon and a distant crackle of thunder. His father left him at the door, assuring him that he’d be in the chaperone cabin if Aziraphale needed him for absolutely anything at all. With a curt nod of thanks, Aziraphale entered the chapel, turned on flickering lights and closed the door behind him. This was not a conversation he cared to share with anyone else.

Aziraphale had given up on the other angels, he’d given up on heaven, but he’d never given up on the Almighty. He believed, even after the apocalypse, that there was a plan of sorts and that it was fundamentally sound. If no other being, ethereal, occult, or otherwise could understand it, that didn’t matter. That wasn’t the point.

For the first time, however, Aziraphale found himself truly angry with the Lord. He’d not come to pray, he’d not come for comfort, he’d come to share a piece of his mind.

He had none of his powers. He didn’t even have the chalk he needed to communicate with the higher office, but humans had their own ways of contacting God. Shouting in a church seemed as good as any.

Aziraphale stood before the pulpit and the wooden cross mounted on the wall behind it. The air, outside the building and in, was thick with humidity and the unfulfilled promise of rain. It matched Aziraphale’s mood.

He looked up. “Why? Why do you hate him so? What did he do that was so terrible that casting him out wasn’t enough? It’s been 6,000 years. Is that so short a time to you that it still seems worth it to make him suffer?

“I’ll never understand it. I _know_ him. I’ve seen him show kindness, mercy, things most of your angels completely fail to understand. He won’t admit it of course, or he wouldn’t when he knew who he was, but it was there. He’s not deserving of your wrath.”

He was pacing now, working up his righteous indignation and he stirred the motionless heat within the room. “I’ve always taken your side in things when I’ve argued with him. You know that. You know everything. But I can’t take your side in this now. He doesn’t know what he is. He doesn’t know what he was. If you’re doing this on purpose, if it’s woven into your plan, it’s beyond cruel. Just leave him alone. Just let him be!”

Outside the chapel thunder clapped loudly somewhere far away, but no rain came to beat upon the roof.

Perhaps it was the heat of the day meeting the chill night air or perhaps it was an answer. Either way, Aziraphale had worked himself up into a state and he wasn’t backing down now.

“I’m not asking you to care for him. I’m not asking you to keep him safe. All I’m asking is that you let me do it. All I’m asking for is the power to keep him safe at least so long as he’s still a child. Please, he doesn’t deserve this. Please, just let me protect him.”

He’d meant to stay indignant, but somewhere along the line he’d reverted to his true nature. He’d stop scolding and started to beg. He was on his knees now, hands clenched before him. High above the clouds burst. Drops of rain pelted down on the chapel roof. Outside the window lightning flashed.

Something shifted and Aziraphale started to change.

It was not so painful as it had been in reverse, when he’d turned himself mortal and a bit too small all at once. He’d been creeping up on his usual height over the past year and so there weren’t quite so many inches to add as bones and muscle stretched and grew. What pain there was was immediately squelched by the sudden influx of power coursing through Aziraphale’s very center. It was nothing he hadn’t been created with, nothing he hadn’t been accustomed to for six thousand years. And yet, having it flood him all at once after a half decade of mortality, was overwhelming. He couldn’t contain it. Wings burst forth from his back, uncontainable in their usual plane. His skin was glowing.

When Aziraphale opened his eyes there were more than two of them. He stood and made his way to the chapel door. Outside, the girls of Camp Maple Lake were screaming and laughing as they fled through the rain toward their cabins. Not a one of them noticed Aziraphale. He expected them not to.

The bin of prop weapons from earlier that afternoon sat forgotten outside. Aziraphale made his way toward it and plucked a plastic sword from its confines. It was not the one he’d been given, but he could make do. He blinked with all his eyes and it lit up like a bonfire. Then he opened wide his wings and took to the air.

Something else had come to him with is powers: knowledge of Anthony’s location.

* * *

Tony did not know where he was. He’d been going in and out of consciousness for the past few hours, ever since his father had forced him to drink that shake. It was hard to tell what was dream and what was reality. His dreams were fevered and confusing, when he woke the world around him seemed to move in ways it shouldn’t have. The blonde man, with his coat and his sneer and his smell, seemed to exist in both realities, although sometimes his eyes would change.

At some point they’d gotten out of the car. Tony thought he remembered being led up a flight of stairs but he might have been carried instead. They’d put him on a couch or a chair or a counter. Whatever it was he was lying down.

Tony was shaking, sweating, hot then cold. The world was broken. He thought he might be dying. Someone began to cry which made his father mad. He came into the room, shouting, screaming at him, while the blonde man laughed. Tony’s face was wet. Maybe he was the one crying. Maybe he was dreaming again.

His father kept yelling. The blonde man kept laughing. Louder, louder, louder. Then suddenly rain was coming in through the window.

It hadn’t broken. There’d been no shattering of glass, nor jagged shrapnel coming in towards them. The window hadn’t been opened either, it had simply been there and then not there. The window no longer existed.

Tony craned his neck to see and caught a glimpse of some sort of glowing being ducking in through the hole in the wall. For a moment he was terrified. He reached for his father, but found Benjamin Drake had dropped to his knees. Tony began to scream or tried to. He didn’t think there was any sound.

The blonde man was up. He wasn’t laughing anymore but he still wore a smirk. It kept flickering though, like the expression wanted to flee. “It’s you then. The snake’s angel. I’d been told you were out of commission.”

“Ah. That explains it then. It would appear that since one side meddled I’m allowed to even things out.” This was the glowing being. It spoke with too many voices and yet… Tony was less afraid now that he’d heard it.

“All I did was my job. Just a little tempting, is all.”

“So you always hang around the humans you tempt to witness the fall out then, do you?” The voices were clipped and angry. “Or was this cruel sport for you? A cheap and easy way to get revenge?”

“What are you going to do about it then? You think you’re going to beat me?” The blonde man began to change. His eyes went black and then his skin started to rupture. He was turning into something, a nightmare Tony would never unsee.

Except he never got to finish. The glowing being stepped forward and spoke a warning. “Tell them all, everyone back in hell, that he is off limits. Not a one of you touches a hair on his head.”

Then there was an arc of fire as something was swung through the air. The thing that had once been the blonde man let out a terrible piercing shriek and then disappeared entirely, leaving nothing but a circle of ash.

But someone was still screaming.

Benjamin Drake had been on his knees since the glowing being had stepped into the room. He stayed down as he began to wail with terror. Tony had never seen his father look so pathetic, either awake or in his dreams.

“Please. Please. I’m begging you. Don’t kill me. Please. Please. Whatever you are. Please. I’ll do anything.” He was sobbing, grasping at the being’s robes, shaking the way he’d once made Tony and his mother shake.

“I ought to kill you,” said the being. “I’ve never actually killed anyone before, but you’re certainly worth the exception. Still, people will want answers to their questions so I’m going to need to leave you alive. For now.”

“Anything. Anything,” Benjamin mumbled.

The being bent down so that it was right in his father’s face. Tony could see it better now. It had too many eyes and the light was almost painful. It spoke again. “You are going to get to your feet. You are going to make your way to the telephone. You are going to contact the local authorities and confess everything you’ve done. You are going to tell them precisely where to find you and your son. You will then wait for their arrival and you will go with them willingly. You will make sure your son is taken into their care. I will stay long enough to make sure of that. And then, you horrid man, you will NEVER even think of coming near your son or ex-wife ever again. Because if you do I will not merely kill you, I will rend you limb from limb and I will make certain that you relive the experience every day for the rest of eternity. Do I make myself clear?”

Benjamin Drake nodded. He got to his feet and staggered into the other room. Tony could hear him dialing the phone.

The being was looking at him now but Tony wasn’t frightened. The light, so harsh when it had threatened his father, seemed softer now. The being stroked Tony’s hair and tutted. “My poor dear, what did he give you to get you in this state? Let me fix that for you.”

Then Tony felt fine. His stomach wasn’t cramping, there was no sweat, no nausea, no misery. He might even have said the drowsiness was gone, if he hadn’t so clearly been dreaming just now. The being picked him up, cradling him like a much smaller child, as it settled on the couch. Tony was bathed in its light now and he’d forgotten how to be afraid.

“I’m sure you were very brave. You always are, you know, always have been.” The being told him. “I was so frightened I wouldn’t see you again. I’m so relieved you’re safe!”

Silver lines traced their way down the beings’ cheeks and it took a moment before Tony could recognize them as tears. He reached up and wiped them away. Then he noticed there were more tears, everywhere, and frowned.

“You got too many eyes,” he told it groggily.

The being laughed in all of its voices and hugged him even closer.

“Look at me, Anthony.” He wasn’t sure how anyone could have looked at anything else. “You’re safe and he will never hurt you again. But I’m going to need you to forget this, this right now. I’m going to put you back to sleep, alright? I’m going to put you back to sleep but it won’t hurt this time. It will be lovely and calm and refreshing. You’ll remember that your father took you, you’ll remember everything up to my arrival, but it’s not going to haunt you. You will remember that you are brave. You will remember that you are strong. I will not let this harm you. Now sleep, dearest, dream of beautiful things, and awake when the moment is right.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> See? All safe and rescued. Only a fool messes with a kid whose got his very own guardian angel.  
> Hopefully everyone is a little less mad this week…😅  
> (Also, if you live in the states and are of voting age: Please vote!)


	16. Chapter 16

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No particular warnings that I can think of this week. There's some discussion of the hard topics that were dealt with in the last few chapters, but mostly from a place of healing. 
> 
> Tony remains an ironic little atheist.

“Ezra. Come on, buddy. Wake up.”

Aziraphale scrunched his eyes together tightly. He did not want to wake up. He was exhausted with the sort of well earned, bone-weary tiredness that one might feel after a day of physical labor.

“I know you’re tired. You can go back to sleep in a moment, I promise, but you won’t forgive me if I don’t tell you now.”

Against his will, Aziraphale pushed himself up. He ached, although whether that was from the surface he’d fallen asleep on or from transforming twice in one night was uncertain. After Anthony’s rescue, he’d made his way back to the camp and dragged himself into the church, wet wings trailing behind him. He vaguely remembered sitting down on one of the hard, wooden pews. He did not remember falling asleep there. He must have though, or how could he be awaking?

Glancing at his form, Aziraphale surmised that he must have become mortal again sometime in the night. He was wearing a Camp Maple Lake t-shirt and his hands weren’t glowing anymore. That and Elijah wasn’t screaming.

“You awake now, bud? Or are you still half asleep?” Elijah looked exhausted too, with dark circles heavy beneath his eyes. But he was smiling, clearly relieved.

The chapel lights were still turned on but outside the windows it was dark. Aziraphale could hear rain overhead which had outlasted the thunder. It plunked gently onto wood shingles without much force. “What time is it?”

“Just after midnight. It’s only an hour past lights out. You’d be fine to move to your cabin if you want. I’m sure a mattress would do you good.” Elijah regrouped himself. “But Ezra I have good news! T-”

“Anthony’s safe,” Aziraphale mumbled, smiling back at the pastor.

Elijah blinked. “I… yes. How’d you know?”

Abruptly, Aziraphale became fully awake. “Oh, I… I didn’t… I just… You seemed so… I just sort of… felt it?”

It seemed a horrible lie to Aziraphale’s ears, but Elijah beamed at him. “See, it’s like I told you! When there was nowhere else to turn you went to God and in God you found the answer.”

“I… I cannot argue with that,” Aziraphale said. “Oh, but tell me where he is! When can we see him? How does he seem?”

Elijah laughed, weary and relieved. “I don’t have all the answers yet. I got a call from your mom. About an hour and half before she reached out, Maddy and the officers who were working on the case got a call from a police station in Newark, New Jersey. His father had taken him all the way down there.”

“However did they find him?” asked Aziraphale, though he already knew the answer.

Elijah shook his head in wonder, “It sounds almost miraculous really. Benjamin Drake must have found a conscience or else something snapped. He called the police on himself. Apparently he was raving about space aliens or something.”

“Space aliens?!”

“Yeah. I don’t know… It sounds like he might have been on something. Anyway he let them handcuff him and take him right away. They found Tony asleep on the couch. As part of his confession Ben admitted to drugging him with Nyquil. I don’t know how much he gave him but you’re not supposed to give _any_ to a kid Tony’s age. Don’t worry though, your mom said he seems fine. He’d been out cold but the moment Maddy walked in the room he sat right up and started talking to her. So it sounds like he’s doing alright, everything considered.”

Aziraphale sighed in relief. It seemed as though his powers had worked. “Are they still in New Jersey, then?”

“Yup. They could’ve come home but neither your mom or Maddy has gotten any sleep so they’re going to get a hotel room for the night. They’ll go back home tomorrow.”

“Us too?” Aziraphale asked uncertainly.

Elijah stood up and ruffled Aziraphale’s hair. It was less annoying than usual. “Yeah. I’ve called Pastor Harvey and he’s going to drive up tomorrow and swap with me. We’ll take his car back to the church and he can pick it up when he comes home on the bus. For now though, you and I ought to walk back to the cabins and get some rest, alright?”

Aziraphale nodded and lifted himself up, every muscle shouting out in agony. It was surprisingly pleasant to step out into the misting rain. He raised his face to let the drops trace their way to the tip of his nose and down off his chin.

“Oh wow! I didn’t realize the lightning hit so close. Thank the Lord you’re alright.”

“What do you mean?”

Elijah pointed down toward a twisted piece of melting plastic sitting outside the chapel door. “I wonder what that even was.”

“There’s no telling now,” Aziraphale said, urging Elijah onward and away from the remains of a prop sword that had not been able to handle the burden of holy flame.

* * *

It had been less than a week since the camp bus had pulled away from the front of Westwich Methodist but so much had happened that it seemed odd for the building to remain unchanged. Aziraphale had slept through most of the ride as Elijah drove but he was all energy now that they’d reached home.

“Do you think they’ll be in the apartment or in our house?”

Elijah glanced at the dashboard clock. It was 10:00 AM. “Our house, I’d bet. Even if Edith is letting the other moms run it, Vacation Bible School is still on. I wouldn’t want to be in the apartment with all those kids running everywhere.”

The reasoning seemed sound and so Aziraphale made straight for the manse as soon as he got out of the car. He did not wait for Elijah, though the pastor was close at his heels. He threw open the front door, didn’t bother to take his shoes off in the foyer, and hurried into the living room. Anthony was leaping at him before Aziraphale could even look around the room.

“Angel!”

Aziraphale was nearly bowled over by the hug but he retained his footing and held the boy close. It was good to hold him, to feel him real and safe and alive. He’d had to leave him behind when he’d heard the sirens pull up outside of Benjamin Drake’s apartment. That wasn’t going to happen again. He’d hold onto Anthony as long as the boy allowed him to.

This turned out to be a rather long time.

Elijah gave up on waiting to greet Anthony himself and slipped passed to greet the women. “How are you two doing and how does he seem to be holding up?”

“I’ve been better,” Maddy said, voice thin. “I guess I’ve been worse too. I think I’m still in shock… It’s like, one moment I can’t believe it happened, the next I can’t believe it didn’t turn out worse.”

She choked on a sudden sob. “I’m still so worried about him.”

Aziraphale watched them over Anthony’s head. Maddy was pale, weak with exhaustion. Edith sat beside her, a hand on Maddy’s knee, frazzled herself but lending what support she could. Aziraphale glanced down at Anthony, the boy was smiling up at him.

“I was right, angel. You leaving totally sucked.”

“I hardly think that was the problem,” Aziraphale said warmly. “How are you doing, my dear? You’ve had quite an ordeal.”

Anthony’s brow furrowed and he shrugged. “I’m pretty much fine, actually.”

This got Elijah’s attention. He swept back over to give Anthony a hug of his own. “You don’t need to act tough for us. It’s okay to be upset.”

“I’m not acting!” Anthony insisted. He made his way toward the couch and curled up beside his mother. Something about the way he did it implied he was offering comfort rather than asking for it. “Tell them I’m fine, Mom.”

“Tony…” Maddy sounded wary. “He’s right you don’t have to pretend it’s okay.”

Anthony rolled his eyes and huffed.

Edith left them seated together so that she could come offer a hug to her husband and son. She spoke quietly, “He’s been like that since he woke up yesterday. He keeps saying he feels alright. It’s almost more worrying than if he were upset.”

She was apparently not quiet enough. Anthony called from across the room, “I’m not pretending. I’m not acting! I. Feel. Just. Fine. I’m not saying it wasn’t awful while it was happening. It was. It was scary and confusing and I don’t know why you ever took drugs on purpose, Mom, cause that was the worst part. It’s just, those EMT guys said I was alright. And Dad’s locked up again and, since he brought me across state lines, it’ll probably end up being WAY longer than before. He can’t do nothing to us now. By the time he’s out of jail again I’ll be way too big to kidnap. There’s nothing left to be afraid of.”

Maddy pulled him tighter, her eyes distant as she held him. Anthony let her. He seemed to understand that she needed this even if he did not.

Edith shrugged at Aziraphale and Elijah. She did not seemed convinced. Perhaps Aziraphale had gone a bit overboard with the miracles and blessings. It had broken his heart to imagine Anthony traumatized once he was freed from his father’s clutches, but maybe a touch of trauma would have been more believable.

Edith gave him a hug. “I don’t suppose you’ve forgiven me, now that he’s safe?”

Aziraphale blinked at her in surprise. In everything that had happened the previous evening, he’d forgotten his frustrations with her. A touch of guilt wormed into his heart. It wasn’t that he didn’t believe any of the things he’d said, she had been foolish, unkind, intransigent, but he’d been harsh in how he’d said it. He’d called her out on things she’d already realized were a mistake.

“I, er, I apologize for the way I spoke on the phone…” He hesitated and then continued. “Although, I still think you ought to talk to him about it.”

“I will. I want to give him some time though first, make sure he’s really dealing with everything that happened with his father.” This time Anthony didn’t object.

This might have had less to do with her volume and more to do with the fact that Elijah had sat down on the coffee table to speak with him. Placing his camp luggage by the door, Ezra went to join them.

“How was your camp anyway?” Anthony asked, eager for the conversation to be on something other than himself.

“Oh, I think I had a pretty good time for most of it and I think Ezra had a better time than he expected he would.” Elijah chuckled before admitting, “Although I’m not sure that the bar was very high for that.”

Anthony’s eyes widened in surprise and he likely would have sat up straighter if his mother hadn’t been holding onto him so tightly. “Really?”

Aziraphale shrugged. “There were ups and downs. I’m glad to be home.”

Edith, who had disappeared briefly into the kitchen, reappeared with a tray laden with lemonade and cookies. It was her way, when faced with someone in distress, to ply them with baked goods as a form of comfort. Understandably she offered the first choice to Maddy and Anthony.

Once she’d sat down to join them, Elijah said his next piece while looking at her, even though he was speaking to Aziraphale, “Did you get a mailing address or phone number from Martin? If you didn’t I can ask the pastor of his church to help put you in touch. It’d be a shame to just let go of a new friendship like that.”

“Er,” said Aziraphale. He glanced toward Anthony, wondering how he’d react. Even with miracles in place he might be feeling fragile, the idea that Aziraphale had been enjoying someone else’s company could upset him. But it appeared Aziraphale was underestimating just how much the boy had grown that year.

He wasn’t jealous at all. “Well, even if Ezra hasn’t got his phone number or anything yet it doesn’t matter. There’s still a whole week left, right? If you were having fun and meeting people and stuff, you guys should go back. I mean, I’m glad you came to make sure I’m okay, but it’s not like you need to stay here.”

“Anthony we’re not abandoning you after you’ve just gone through a trial. We wouldn’t even think of it.” Aziraphale reached out a hand and clasped one of Anthony’s in his own.

“But-”

“But nothing, little guy.” Elijah interrupted, “We might not exactly be a family by the usual standards, but we support each other when someone’s struggling. We’re not going to leave you. It’s just camp.”

Anthony’s mother was holding him, Aziraphale had his hand, Elijah was smiling, Edith was offering another cookie, and yet for the first time that day, Anthony looked truly distressed.

* * *

“I’m worried about Ezra,” Tony announced, bouncing onto a chair in the Cozy Corner of Dr. Amanda’s office. She hadn’t even sat down yet and she paused to blink at him in disbelief.

“Tony, we’re having an emergency session because you just went through a potentially traumatic event. Today is not the day to talk about Ezra.”

Tony rolled his eyes and flopped dramatically over the side of the chair with an exaggerated groan. How many adults did he have to tell he was doing alright? “If I talk about getting kidnapped then will you help me with the Ezra bit? That’s what’s worrying me right now. And besides, I thought these sessions were ‘for me’.”

“If you’ll talk to me about your father then yes, I’ll help with whatever it is that’s got you worried about Ezra. Does that seem fair?” The doctor settled herself down across from him and placed her clipboard in her lap.

“Yeah I guess. So uh, I know I should be, like, really screwed up right now but I’m just not. It’s like… I was more worried on Tuesday when I knew my dad was just _out there_. Now I know he’s locked up in some jail cell in New Jersey and I feel way less scared about it than I did before he kidnapped me.”

“It’s not just about being scared though Tony, it’s about your general feeling of security, the way you relate to your father. Do you feel as though any of that’s changed?” He’d known Dr. Amanda long enough now to tell that she was really worried about him even through her professional façade.

“I mean, I don’t think my relationship with my dad is _worse_. I don’t think there was anywhere worse for it to go.”

“Do you feel safe at home, Tony? Do you feel safe going outside? Is there anything you feel has changed?”

He shrugged. “I mean, I’m a little jumpy around the church steps, I guess. But it’s not like I think anything’ll happen again, it just makes me remember things. That’s the clearest part anyway. All the rest of my memories are a little weird. I coulda sworn there was someone with my dad, but the cops didn’t find any evidence of that… Anyway, I don’t mind going outside by myself or like walking over to Ezra’s or anything. My mom does though. I can tell. She’s scared to go back to work and she won’t hardly give me a moment by myself. I think she’s scarder than I am.”

Dr. Amanda wrote that last bit down. There was something calming about the scratching of pen on page, so Tony just sat back and watched her. He was quiet until the doctor asked him another question, “Are you worried about your mom?”

He nodded. “She was really freaked out when my dad got out of prison but she was starting to feel a bit better before everything happened. Now she’s all nervous and shaky again. It’s like how she was when I was little and then I…”

Something occurred to Tony that he had not yet put into words. His voice was soft as he finished his idea. “I get nervous that she might… she might try drugs or something again.”

He looked at his sneakers because he did not want to look at his therapist. “Why do you think that would happen?”

“She used them when my dad scared her before. When she didn’t know what to do she’d go to parties and try to forget everything. Nothing this bad has happened since she was in recovery. What if she thinks she needs them again?” Tony looked at Dr. Amanda now. He hadn’t realized he’d been worrying about this but, now that she’d gotten him here, she’d better have some answers.

“Your mom has a lot more support now than she did when you were little. She has her group, she has the Clarks, she has her friends from work. There are a lot of people who can help her take care of herself. If it’s really worrying you though, you can talk to your mom about it. She’s always been very open with you before.”

“I guess,” Tony shrugged. “But she just keeps fretting about me instead. Like she keeps asking me to talk about my feelings and stuff and I don’t have anything to tell her. Not about what happened anyway. It’d be pretty dumb if we’re both just worrying about what the other person is worrying about.”

“Does it bother you when she asks about your feelings?”

“It wouldn’t if she’d just believe me but everyone keeps thinking I’m lying and I’m not!” He fixed his gaze sternly on the doctor. She hadn’t sounded like she believed him very much either.

“Do they think you’re lying or do they think you might not be fully accepting your emotions?”

“I can guess which one you’re thinking,” Tony told her flatly. Then he folded his arms and sighed, “Either way it’s annoying and it feels like no one’s listening. Except for Ezra. He listens.”

Dr. Amanda smiled at that. He’d been coming to her for nearly half his life now and Ezra was a regular topic of conversation. “Do you understand why people might find it hard to believe that you’re not bothered at all?”

“I didn’t say I wasn’t bothered. I said it was awful. It’s just…” He frowned. “Look, I’m going to explain it as best as I can and if that doesn’t do it, oh well. It was scary, okay? Particularly right at the beginning, cause my dad has this way of just… of sort of lying just close enough to the truth that you stop believing your own brain and start thinking you’re probably wrong. It’s like the ground is moving underneath you and you can’t get your feet just right. He did that to me, that’s how he got me to step close enough to him that he could do whatever he did to make me pass out. That’s the part that’s scary and that makes me all jumpy near the church steps.

“But the stuff after that is really fuzzy. I was passed out for most of it. I sort of remember eating dinner and that part was awful. I felt trapped and like I’d never get out. And then he gave me so much Nyquil that I felt sick. I was all sweaty and seeing things and I didn’t know when I was asleep or awake or nothing. I was having nightmares and then…”

Dr. Amanda always paid attention but her eyes did not always go quite so wide and her pen didn’t always freeze above her paper. Tony kept speaking. “Then everything was okay. I don’t know what happened cause I wasn’t even awake yet. I just know that I was restless and scared and shaking and then I wasn’t. I dreamed about something like a light or… something. And when that dream was over I wasn’t scared and I wasn’t sweating. I slept like I would any other night. No… better than any other night. I woke up and my mom was there and I felt peaceful. When I think back on everything I remember feeling that way more than I remember everything else. And I’m starting to feel like everybody wants me to focus on the awful parts but I just keep remembering what it was like when everything was okay again.”

He shrugged at her. There wasn’t anything else to tell. Dr. Amanda wrote slowly as she gathered her thoughts. “I don’t want you to feel like you’ve got to make yourself traumatized because that’s what everyone expects. If that moment is what you take away from this then that’s just fine. But I also don’t want you to feel like you can’t talk about anything if it does start to bother you. So, promise me you’ll talk if you need to and I won’t bring it up again.”

“I promise. Can you tell my mom that too? Can you tell her I’m not lying and she doesn’t need to worry about me?”

Dr. Amanda nodded and then smiled. “So, why are you worried about Ezra?”

Tony picked himself up from the languid way he’d draped himself over the chair and leaned forward. This is what he’d wanted to discuss the whole time anyway. They’d dealt a lot this year with his jealousy over Ezra spending time with other people. The doctor had helped him think about it differently, to value the time they spent together, while still leaving them both the space to make connections at grade level. She knew the story up to this point and he needed her advice.

“So all this crap went down while Ezra and his dad were away at Church Camp. Ezra super didn’t want to go but it sounds like his dad was actually right for once. He started making a friend there and then they had to leave because of me.”

“Tony, you’ve done nothing wrong. None of this was your fault.”

“I know. I know! That’s not the point. The point is they came home cause there was an emergency. Only there’s a whole week of camp left and they won’t go back because they’re worried about me. I want him to go back. I want to make sure Ezra doesn’t lose his new friend. He _never_ fits in. He’s always had trouble with that. I’ll feel awful if he doesn’t get a good chance because he and his dad felt like they had to sit around and stare at me for a week just to make sure I don’t, like, shatter or something.”

Dr. Amanda put her clipboard aside. “What Ezra and his dad decide to do is up to them. It’s not your fault and you shouldn’t feel bad no matter what that decision ends up being. I do want to tell you, though, how proud I am that you’re considering Ezra’s feelings first and not getting jealous.”

Tony was still a little jealous but he would keep that bit to himself. “Cool. I need you to help me come up with a scheme to get them back to camp.”

“Tony, this is therapy not a crime syndicate.”

“But what if it’s a therapeutic scheme to help people feel better? And anyway you promised to help if I talked about my dad and I did.”

Dr. Amanda let out a breath that might have been a sigh or might have been a laugh, either way it seemed to be tired. “Alright Tony, I’ll help you with your plan.”

* * *

For all the fuss she’d put up, Dr. Amanda wasn’t half-bad at scheming. He supposed it was all the psychology classes- they helped her figure out what everyone needed and how to get them to agree to things. In the end she’d found a way for Tony to get Ezra back to camp, help his mother, and let almost everyone keep an eye on him. Tomorrow morning Ezra and Elijah would be returning to Camp Maple Lake, and Maddy and Tony would join them.

Now it was Sunday night and Tony knelt in front of his dresser stuffing clothing into his bag. The door to his room was open, it had been for most of the past few days. It just seemed easier to let his mother glance in at him when she wanted than it was to open the door whenever she knocked. Maddy seemed afraid that he would disappear if she wasn’t constantly checking on him.

It would be less of a problem through the rest of the week; Camp Maple Lake was being extremely accommodating and had offered them space in a small cabin which was used when extra-large groups rented out the site. That meant it would just be the two of them in a tiny little area away from everyone else. Tony was alright with that if it helped his mom feel safer.

He just hoped she’d be less protective of him by the time the week was over.

A knock on the apartment door made his mother jump in the other room. He paused in his work to watch her approach the front door. She’d added a chain lock on top of the one in the knob, even though anyone would have to break into the church before they broke into their home. Her shoulders fell in relief when she saw who was on the other side.

“Edith! Do you want to come in?”

“Actually, I wanted a chance to speak with Tony before everyone leaves tomorrow. I can come in or he can come out. I just… I want to apologize.” Tony couldn’t see her from where he was sitting, but even without any visual clues he knew immediately what she must be talking about.

“Why don’t you come in. I’ve still got to pack anyway. I’ll shut myself off in my room and you two can have some privacy.”

Tony did not bother waiting for them to call him over. He hopped up from the nest of clothing that had grown around him as he packed and hurried into the apartment’s main room before Edith had even closed the door behind her. His mother gave him a squeeze before retreating into her own bedroom. She’d been doing that the past few days, hugging him like she had when they’d said goodbye at the train station even when they were only going to be two rooms apart.

He’d worry about that later, for now he had to deal with Edith and a conversation he didn’t much want to have. Tony decided to put things off for as long as possible by doing what Edith would have done if they were meeting at the Clarks’ house. He offered food. “You want a snack or something? There’s a box of Cheez-its in the cupboard and I think we have some of those gummies that are shaped like sharks.”

“I’m alright but thank you.”

“You want water? We got water.”

“I only want to talk. Will you come sit down?” Edith had placed herself on one end of the couch and she gestured for Tony to sit by her side. He was relieved, at least, that she hadn’t chosen the table instead. The couch didn’t require eye contact.

He flopped down and pulled one of the throw pillows into his arms, drumming the fabric with his fingers. She’d decided they needed to talk; she was going to have to start things.

“Tony, I wanted to talk about what happened during Vacation Bible School. I want to apologize for how I handled your questions.”

It felt odd to have Edith apologize to him, in part it was because she was an adult but that wasn’t all of it. His mother had apologized to him before, she’d never been the type of grown-up who drew a sharp line between age groups. She’d never tried to act anything other than human. Mrs. Ferguson had apologized to him too but he’d made such a villain out of her in his own mind, and had to work so hard for a scrap of respect, that it had felt righteously earned.

Edith fit neither of those categories. She’d almost always been sweet to him, almost always been open and caring and kind. And yet, unlike his own mother, she’s always differentiated child and adult. She had strict ideas about manners, respect, and behavior; she had as long as he’d known her. For her to apologize to him meant she really felt she’d messed up.

“You couldn’t’a known I was gonna get kidnapped off the front steps.”

Edith’s eyes widened. He’d noticed most of the adults doing that, balking when he spoke casually about what happened. It was odd because he felt better when he talked about it that way. It made him feel stronger than anything his father could do.

“Even if- even if none of that had happened. I still should have handled it better. I didn’t mean to make you feel bad about asking questions. I’m sorry.” Her words were accompanied by an apologetic smile which Tony decided to accept. After all, she’d probably felt awful enough when he’d disappeared and she’d looked out for his mother until they’d found him. Besides, Wednesday felt like a lifetime ago.

“ s’alright,” he told her.

“Well, we can talk about your questions now, if you’d like. I owe you at least that much.” Edith paused just long enough that Tony thought he’d be able to stop the conversation before it became heavy, but then she barreled on as though she’d been preparing for it. “So the general idea that you were asking about is what philosophers and religious thinkers call ‘the problem of evil’. It’s basically the question of how an all-powerful God could let bad things happen and still be good. It’s a difficult question and one a lot of people struggle to find an answer for.”

Tony had an answer. He didn’t think there was a God. He did not share this thought with Edith as he thought it might mess up the lesson she’d planned.

“John Wesley, the man who founded the Methodist Church, believed that all the suffering in the world is caused by human sin. He even included natural disasters there. He felt that humans had basically brought down all of creation. God has given us each the ability to make our own decisions and as long as too many people are making bad ones then people are going to suffer.”

Tony did not feel that this fully answered his questions about drowning babies but he also didn’t want the conversation to continue. He nodded vacantly to show that he’d been listening.

Edith seemed pleased. “So I just wanted to say that and to tell you that no matter how much suffering there is I know God is good. After all Tony, God brought you back to us.”

God, by her way of thinking, had also let Benjamin Drake snatch Tony off the front stoop, but he did not bring that up. Instead he let her give him a hug and kiss him on the forehead. “You’ll have a great time at Church Camp, I just know it.”

Edith, as far as he could tell, seemed to ‘know’ a lot of things weren’t true.

* * *

Aziraphale had not expected a return to Camp Maple Lake, though he didn’t mind quite so much with Anthony by his side. When the boy had come home from therapy asking if he and his mother might get away from it all for a little while by joining them at the camp, Aziraphale had been convinced the plan would fall through. But Maple Lake made its money almost solely by renting to Christian institutions. Bending the rules a bit to help out a traumatized mother and son was good PR. The fact that Edith and Elijah were footing the bill without either of the Drakes knowing didn’t hurt either.

Now Aziraphale held Tony’s hand as they walked the dirt path from the Welcome Center. The child leaned in close, making their rolling luggage bump together behind them.

So much seemed different than it had just a few days ago- even Aziraphale’s bags had changed. Where there had once been nothing more than a practical silver zipper, a small, plush, Pooh bear now bounced with each step. Even the trees, the earth, and the camp itself felt different. On his first arrival, the rusticity had been alienating and unpleasant, now it felt safe. Nothing would touch the Drakes so long as they were out here.

It helped that they were arriving during Bible Study. The campers were all sitting around in small groups hidden among the trees. It gave their arrival a sense of privacy.

“The counselor at the welcome center said your cabin should be back this way, behind the Mess Hall and past the sports’ field. This should be right.” Elijah turned off the path and the rest of their small group followed. There had been rain again the night before but the heat of the sun had dried the grass everywhere accept within the most stubborn shadows. It was only when they reached the little cabin, nestled in a copse of trees, that Aziraphale felt any dampness soak in at the top of his socks. He ignored it.

The inside of the cabin looked very much the same as Cabin #3. There were three sets of bunks on the edges and the same double toilet, shower, sink set up in a smaller room off to the side. By the streaky appearance of the dust, someone had made a hasty attempt to clean everything with limited results.

Despite this, Maddy looked pleased as she dropped her bag with a thump to the floor. “It’s not quite that place in the Catskills, but I actually kind of like it. Go on Tony, pick a bed and I’ll help you make it up.”

It was the most relaxed Aziraphale had seen her in the past few days. God bless Mr. Rossini for giving her time off work. The poor woman needed this.

“I want every top bunk!” Anthony announced, releasing Aziraphale’s hand and charging toward the closest ladder.

Maddy laughed. “How about just that one, kiddo?”

“I guess.” He tried to look cool but grinned too much.

It didn’t take long to get the cabin set in order and, after they’d all taken a chance to use the toilet, they set off to drop Aziraphale and Elijah’s things back in their respective cabins before having a tour of camp.

“You saw the vast majority of it already,” Aziraphale admitted. “If you only know one place it ought to be the Mess Hall. It’s nearly lunch and you’ll see everyone descend upon it then. The chapel gets a fair amount of use as well. There’s a meeting held before breakfast and a proper service before dinner. I don’t suppose those are required for you two.”

“Not that you’re not invited!” Elijah jumped in. He and Maddy were walking a few yards behind Aziraphale and Tony as they all made their way toward the Lake. “You’re more than encouraged to sit in if you need to. I’m sure, with everything that’s happened, you might need a little more of God’s word.”

“ _Or,_ ” Aziraphale said pointedly, “You can make use of the Camp’s many amenities.”

They’d come to the lake’s edge now and he gestured toward it. “Take a left here to head toward the campfire circle or take a right to reach the archery fields. If you go past either you’re officially on the hiking trails. The paths are actually rather well marked and if you feel you’re getting lost you can just redirect yourself to the lake.”

He might as well not have said any of it. Anthony had immediately untied his laces, slipped off his shoes, and gone to wade in the water. As Maddy and Elijah settled themselves on the bank to watch, Aziraphale made the decision to join him.

The day was hot, the water was cool, and he didn’t mind the mud beneath his feet as much as he’d feared he would.

“What’s that thing floating in the water over there?” Tony asked, pointing toward what looked like a technicolor plastic bag sized for a titan.

“Ah, I believe that’s called ‘the blob’. You can jump on it and going flying off into the water. I haven’t given it a go myself. I’ve mostly avoided the lake, actually,” Aziraphale admitted.

Anthony looked up at him curiously. “Can you swim? I don’t think I’ve ever seen you.”

“I’m capable. It’s not… it’s not the water I don’t like. I don’t fancy wearing swimming costumes.” It had taken great pains for Aziraphale to accept short pants and t-shirts into his life, the idea of wearing nothing but swim trunks absolutely mortified him. He’d felt rather vulnerable in the striped one-piece getup he’d tried back in 1903 and that was before the addition of adolescent self-consciousness.

“You could just keep your t-shirt on if it makes you feel better but I bet no one else actually cares,” Anthony said with a shrug.

This, in all likelihood, was true. Aziraphale still had no interest in the lake. “There’s a bit too much rough-housing for my taste during ‘lake time’, but thank you for the encouragement. I was starting to think some of the boats might be fun. They get to go out where it’s a bit more quiet.”

“Doesn’t seem too loud around here to me,” Tony said. The world immediately decided to prove him wrong.

It was 12:30, Mess Hall time, and Bible Study groups seemed to melt out of the wilderness. Free from enforced meditation on deeper thoughts, they came running down paths, laughing, whooping, and making all manner of fuss. Though most of them were a fair distance away the noise of it all carried easily toward the lake. Tony, who’d just bent down to splash in the water, stood up and let his hands drip by his side.

“Oh,” he said simply. After observing the chaos for a brief moment he looked meaningfully at Aziraphale, “Do you actually hate it here?”

There was never a chance to answer the question. One of the distant campers was headed away from the Mess Hall, rather than towards it, and was shouting. “Ezra! Ezra you’re back!”

Martin came pounding down the road, straight past Maddy and the Pastor, and stopped by the edge of the lake. He was out of breath and red in the face but clearly overjoyed. He stood there, waiting and grinning, as Aziraphale stepped out of the water.

“Martin! Did you know I was returning?”

“Yeah, that youth pastor who was chaperoning in place of your dad told me yesterday. I wasn’t sure when you’d get here though. Camp hasn’t been half as fun without you.” The smile briefly disappeared into an expression of mild concern, “Everything turned out okay with your neighbor?”

Aziraphale turned toward Anthony, who hadn’t taken so much as a step closer to the bank. He was standing very still and watching Martin very closely. He did not move until Aziraphale gestured for him to approach.

When he was close enough Aziraphale put his hands on Anthony’s shoulders. “Martin this is my neighbor and dear friend, Anthony. Anthony this is Martin, my bunk mate from Cabin 3.”

Wiping one damp hand on the front of his t-shirt, Anthony offered an uncertain handshake. Martin bent down to take it and Aziraphale became suddenly aware of just how much smaller Anthony was.

“It’s nice to meet you, little fella. Ezra sure talks about you a lot. I can tell you’re _really_ good friends.” Except the way Martin said it implied that he couldn’t tell at all. He spoke to Anthony kindly, but as though his age made him something less than a full person. He made it sound as though whatever fondness Aziraphale had for Anthony must be something akin to the doting adoration one might feel for pet rather than a proper friendship. It was patronizing to say the least.

Consequently he expected Anthony to take offence, to say something rude or roll his eyes or worse. The boy was surprisingly gracious. “It’s, uh, nice to meet you too. Were you about to go to lunch?”

“Yeah. I was hoping Ezra would eat with me. Will you?” Martin turned back to Aziraphale, smile more real this time.

“Certainly. I’m getting a bit hungry after all.” He paused to slip his shoes and socks back on, regretting the dampness as he did. Then he stood and began to follow Martin before pausing in surprise. Anthony wasn’t following him. “Aren’t you going to come along?”

Anthony stood at the edge of the water, feet still muddy and bare, as he glanced back and forth between Martin and Aziraphale. He usually wore his every emotion on his face but just now he was difficult to read. Then he shook his head.

“I’m gonna stay with my mom. Your dad’ll help us find where to eat and stuff. I’ll see you around.” Then he forced himself to smile.

“Are sure? You’re more than welcome to come with us or I could stay with all of you. It isn’t any matter. I could-”

“Angel, go. It’s fine.”

So Aziraphale did as he was encouraged and walked down the dirt path after Martin although he couldn’t shake the feeling that this wasn’t fine at all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope this brings a little light and distraction into your lives.
> 
> I've got to go nap and stop looking at the twenty election related tabs I have open in my browser...


	17. Chapter 17

They’d gone to the 5:00 service on their first night at the camp, but a few days had passed since then and Maddy hadn’t made them go back. In fact, she seemed happiest when all the counselors, chaperones, and campers were tucked away within the chapel walls and the whole camp ground belong to her and Tony. She breathed easier, laughed more readily, and every day after their wandering in the wilderness was through, she let Tony go a little further afield. There was something in the smell of grass, the song of birds, and the wind rustling through the leaves that helped restore a piece of her. Tony, who otherwise missed things like television and the sound of traffic, found it made their walks in nature more than worth it.

They’d decided to circumnavigate the lake this evening and had started off before the camp trumpet sounded, while the campers were still at their afternoon activities. It didn’t matter much when they decided to do things. Tony and his mother existed at the edges of camp, present but outside its rigorous schedule. The only times they were beholden to were meal times and even that was somewhat flexible. Maddy had taken him to help the kitchen staff with clean up after lunch that afternoon and they’d been awarded with neatly packed leftovers. Maddy had them now, tucked away in a backpack, so that the two of them could enjoy a picnic dinner whenever the mood struck them.

As it happened, they’d grown used to the camp’s meal schedule. At just about the time they settled down at the opposite end of the lake, they heard the sound of the camp trumpet dismissing the campers to Mess Hall for dinner. Maddy stretched out across the lakeside grass as she unwrapped her sandwich. “I wonder how much more attention they’d get from those kids if they didn’t schedule both chapel sessions right before meals. I mean, hell, they do that bible study meeting before lunch too so they’re three for three. No way the campers aren’t thinking more about their stomachs than God or their souls or whatever.”

Tony nodded in agreement as he bit into his own dinner. “Is that why we haven’t been going?”

“Did you want to go?” His mother asked, her surprise evident. “I didn’t really think you were a big fan of church.”

“I’m not.” Tony shrugged. “I thought you liked it.”

She looked embarrassed, “Oh, I mean, I don’t _dis_ like it. But once a week seems fine to me. Twice a day, every day, is a lot.”

There was something Tony had suspected for the past few years that he’d never actually asked. Safe on the distant side of Maple Lake, away from all of humanity, seemed like the right moment. “Do we only go to church because our apartment’s in the building?”

His mother choked on her water. “Uh, well. It’s not _just_ that. I mean… The Clarks have done a lot for us. Church is super important to them and I figured if going makes them happy, why not? I mean, we can give them a few hours a week for everything they’ve done for us.”

Tony was enjoying this conversation. His religious discussions had always been at Sunday school or, very occasionally, with Ezra. Even then, while Ezra was willing to listen and accept whatever Anthony had to say, he knew that the older boy believed. He may not have loved everything about the church as an organization but Ezra believed in God and angels and all of that sort of thing. Tony was starting to think his mother didn’t. He asked her point blank.

“Do you think God is real?”

“Uh,” Maddy said. She was silent for a minute before admitting. “I don’t really know?”

“That’s a cop out.”

She laughed. “It’s not a cop out; it’s true. I don’t know. I don’t feel like I _can_ know. I’m not confident saying yes but I don’t feel confident saying no either. Sorry if that’s not what you were looking for.”

“Well, _I’m_ sure. I don’t think any of it’s real,” he admitted. It felt good to say it.

“That’s fair,” his mother said easily. “To be honest, I don’t think I really believe any of the stories or sermons or anything. For me it’s more like God is a feeling.”

He raised an eyebrow at her. She tried again. “I don’t feel it in church, not the way I know Edith does. I can tell she gets this sense of being connected to everything when she’s there. Everybody and everything is brought together for her when she hears them singing and listening to the same songs. For her it’s like this sense of everybody being a part of something bigger than themselves. I get that, just not in church. I feel it when I’m out here or in the quiet moments at work when it’s just me and the plants. Nature all works together and I’m only a tiny piece of it. But that’s important you know? Every tiny piece is important to the whole thing. My problems, even the really big ones, they’re just a piece of it.”

She sat up purposefully and pointed toward the branches of a nearby tree. A proud looking blue jay was hopping about in its branches. “Like that guy there. He’s got his own little issues. He gets hungry, he’s gotta meet girls, gotta have eggs- but his little problems aren’t just his. When he’s hungry he eats seeds and stuff. Then he poops them out somewhere or drops them while he’s eating and he spreads plants across the world. He doesn’t know how much his little piece matters but it does. All of it matters and it all fits together. Thinking about that helps me feel peaceful. That’s God to me, even if there isn’t any old man with a beard.”

“God is bird poop?” Tony asked her, he was trying to be serious but he couldn’t help but giggle. She laughed too and pulled him close to tickle him until they were both laid out happily exhausted on the grass.

“Sorry if I got a little out there for you.”

“Nah. I mean I don’t know if I’d call that God or nothing, but I kind of get what you’re saying. I get the togetherness part I think. I mean, I don’t feel that way out in nature but I kind of feel that way when I play music for other people. It’s like I can get a whole group of people to feel the same way at the same time and we’re all together in it. ‘Snot always peaceful though. Not with the _good_ songs.”

He was glad there wasn’t anyone else around because his mother was petting his hair as though he were still a little kid. It was nice and, without anyone else, there was no need to be embarrassed. “I hope you find something that makes you feel peaceful someday, kiddo. I know it took me awhile.”

“I feel that way when Ezra reads to me, ‘specially if I start getting sleepy and I stop hearing the words and just sort of hear his voice.” For a moment he thought of the dream he couldn’t remember, the one that helped him awaken after he was safe from his father. There seemed to be something important in that connection but it faded as soon as it occurred to him. He muttered a less intelligent thought in its place. “Maybe it’s just cause he’s got a nice accent.”

* * *

Something was wrong with Anthony, or no, perhaps it wasn’t quite as broad as that. The boy seemed happy enough when Aziraphale saw him at a distance. He’d catch sight of mother and son chatting together as they wandered the camp grounds, laughing and smiling as they walked. Healing was occurring for both of them. There wasn’t any problem there.

At times Aziraphale had noticed him talking with Elijah. There were the occasional eye rolls and sighs from Anthony’s directions, but that wasn’t unusual. They got on as well as they ever had and the occasional attitude was nothing that hadn’t existed since Anthony first came to stay with the Clarks.

He was even getting on with strangers. He and his mother had won over the kitchen staff in a few short days and Aziraphale had seen them slipping Anthony extra treats or juice boxes. He didn’t interact much with most of the counselors, but he’d discovered one of them had a guitar and Aziraphale had seen him getting lessons.

This left only one conclusion. Anthony had a problem _with Aziraphale_.

It wasn’t something blatant. He waved when they saw one another and a few of those extra desserts from the kitchen appeared on Aziraphale’s bunk when he was out of the cabin. Yet Anthony did not want to spend any time with him. Aziraphale had invited him to accompany him to the campfire, to join him in activities, just to wander by the lake in his one block of free time. Anthony had turned him down without fail. He wouldn’t even speak to Aziraphale for very long. He’d become quick with excuses to end their conversations. He was reminded of Autumn, of the way he and Tony had danced around each other then. They’d made a promise to talk to one another. What was so different now?

Aziraphale did not know what he’d done wrong.

“Earth to Ezra. Hey, you still worrying about your neighbor kid?” Aziraphale, who had been staring across the water toward where Maddy and Anthony were swimming in the lake, turned to Martin with an unintelligent look on his face. The two of them had decided to try out one of the canoes that afternoon and had managed to put some distance between themselves and the shore without tipping over. This was quite a feat considering Aziraphale had been paying almost no attention to anything they were doing.

“Oh, I am sorry. I just can’t seem to keep my head on straight this afternoon. What was it you were saying?”

Martin rolled his eyes. “I was asking if you were still worrying about that kid. He’s clearly doing alright. You can’t waste the rest of camp just staring after him like that. You’re gonna miss everything else.”

“I just don’t know why he won’t spend any time with me. We’re usually inseparable.”

“Well, you said he was kidnapped, right? It’s not surprising if he wants to stick close to his mom right now. He’s a little kid. They go to their parents instead of their friends when they have problems. He hasn’t reached the point in growing up where you don’t do that anymore.”

“He’s always gone to me though… and now I feel like he’s pushing me away.”

With sudden motion that Aziraphale was frightened might upend the canoe, Martin leaned forward and put a hand over his. He was a bit too close now and Aziraphale would have backed away if he’d had his feet on dry land. “Hey, you can’t worry about it. There’s a reason they make movies about the kind of summers people have when they’re in high school. This is the time that we’ll remember for the rest of our lives. We only get four of them. Don’t waste it worrying, alright? We’ve only got a few days left.”

He said this with an air of experienced wisdom as though being a year older had taught him so much more. Aziraphale, at roughly 6,000, had trouble believing that the summer he went to camp would be more memorable than the one in which the world had nearly ended. Still, he gave Martin a polite smile and a nod.

“I suppose I shouldn’t make that much of a fuss. Maddy has invited my father and I to have dinner with them in their cabin tonight. He’ll have to talk to me then.”

Martin sighed heavily.

* * *

Aziraphale did not feel right arriving empty handed when he’d been invited somewhere for dinner, even if that place was a cabin and the people who’d invited him ate half their meals with him on a regular basis. As it was, he had nothing on hand to give. He settled for the friendship bracelet he’d made for Anthony and a woven potholder that did not look like it would hold up to even the slightest increase in temperature. He shoved them in his pocket before the 5:00 service. The moment that was over he left Martin outside the chapel and made his way to the auxiliary cabin.

Maddy had gotten into the Mess Hall before the rush of campers and piled a few plates high with that evening’s offering of passable pasta. She’d also gotten four slices of cake, which was far more important.

When Aziraphale arrived she and Anthony were setting up a picnic dinner on the grass outside the cabin door. Aziraphale offered his pot holder. “I don’t suppose this will be of any use?”

Maddy eyed it and managed not to laugh. “Thanks, Ez. I’m not sure how it’ll add to dinner but I’m glad for the gift.”

“You needn’t keep it. After nearly two weeks the counselors are running out of crafts to teach us. I’ve collected quite a few odds and ends that I’m certain will make their way into the rubbish bin before long.”

“Nah, I’m keeping it. I’ll put it in my bag right now. See if I don’t.” She disappeared into the cabin for a moment and he could hear the sound of luggage unzipping. He hoped she was just pretending and really would throw it out, but he didn’t think she would.

He turned to Anthony. “It’s nice to be eating with you at last. We’ve hardly gotten a chance to speak. I don’t even know if you’ve been enjoying yourself. Have you?”

“Yeah. Course. I’m having lots of fun with mom and there are some advantages to being the only kid around.” He grinned. “Everyone who works here thinks I’m cute and they keep giving me stuff.”

“I’m glad to hear that. I-”

Tony, however, was apparently not done speaking, “I’m sorry my mom made you come here when you’ve only got a couple nights left. I don’t think dinner will take that long though. You’ll be able to do all the night activities and campfire stuff.”

Aziraphale frowned. “You know I enjoy spending time with you, don’t you?”

“Yeah, angel, duh. But I’ll be there when we get home and we’ll have the whole rest of the summer together. I can wait.”

Aziraphale was going to ask why he thought he ought to wait at all but Maddy returned from inside the cabin and Elijah strolled up from across the field and the evening’s plans moved on. The pasta was, as expected, edible and more pleasant when eaten to the accompaniment of bird song than it would have been in the chaos of the Mess Hall. Aziraphale was quiet as everyone else talked about the coming August. He was still studying Anthony, who did not seem unhappy in the slightest.

He grew a bit more solemn as Maddy handed out the slices of chocolate cake but this had nothing to do with Aziraphale and more to do with his mother’s sudden nerves. She had an announcement to make.

“So I talked about this with Edith when we were in the car driving down to… to pick Tony up. I hadn’t made any decision then but I’ve been thinking more about it while we’ve been here and I think I’ve made up my mind. I’m going to change my last name. I don’t want that connection to _him_ anymore.”

Aziraphale, who, half way through the first sentence, had convinced himself she was moving out of the state and taking Anthony with her, was relieved. He beamed. “Would you be going back to your maiden name then?”

At the same moment Anthony protested, “Wait. Why do I gotta keep it? I don’t like him either!”

“Do you want to change it? I don’t want to pressure you or anything. I mean, it’s the only name you’ve ever had,” Maddy said, addressing Anthony first.

“I’m the one he kidnapped. I don’t want his stupid name. I didn’t realize it was that easy. We should’a done it before.”

“Well, there is a bit of a process Tony,” Elijah explained. “Still, I think it’s a great idea. Would you be going back to Murphy, like Ezra said?”

Maddy took a bite of her celebratory freedom cake and frowned to herself. “I don’t really like Murphy much either. My parents… That’s not much of a better connection for me. I think I want something all my own.”

Aziraphale’s stomach twisted as he felt an odd lurch of hope and then wasn’t sure what he actually wanted. His voice was high, “So, you’d be choosing a completely new surname.”

“I guess, yeah. Did you have a suggestion?”

He did, but he kept his mouth shut. Crowley had wanted Free Will, suggesting his own name to him seemed wrong. Besides, he’d been doing a rather good job of separating his idea of Crowley from his idea of Anthony and the name had been a major piece of that. He wasn’t sure if he’d be able to keep those mental gymnastics up if that crutch were taken away. Still, as he shook his head at Maddy he couldn’t help but look at Anthony. Perhaps he’d come up with it himself.

“Well, since you’re joining me on this, Tony, I think it’s a decision we should make together. What should our last name be?”

“Um, I dunno?”

Maddy chuckled, more at herself than anything else. “There’s no hurry I guess. We’ve made the decision, we can come up with something later.”

For Anthony, later was precisely three and a half minutes, or the length of time it took him to inhale his cake.

“I got it!” He announced, wiping frosting from his face with the back of his hand in a way that came across as surprisingly dramatic. Everyone else stared at him. Anthony got to his feet and held his hands out in a frame shape, like he wanted everyone to picture it with him. “Jay.”

“Jay?” asked Elijah.

“Jay?” asked Maddy.

Aziraphale choked as cake went down the wrong pipe.

Recovering himself he asked, “What does J stand for?”

His drama undercut, Tony shrugged. “I dunno. I just… I just thought it sounded cool. Like it works with either Anthony or Tony.” Then he turned red to the tips of ears and added, “I thought mom would like it ‘cause we were talking about the birds the other day.”

Aziraphale blinked. He’d both gotten and not remotely gotten what he’d been expecting. He did not know what to do with that.

“I think I like it!” Maddy said after mulling it over. “It is cool. I could be Maddy Jay. And Tony Jay sounds kind of like a stage name. You got big plans?”

Anthony nodded and looked very pleased with himself.

Despite his shock, Aziraphale settled back into enjoying himself. The Drakes, or the Jays rather, were doing so remarkably well, given all they’d been through, that he could not help but smile at them. The only thing that ended his pleasant mood was the eventual sounding of the camp trumpets announcing the end of dinner and the start of evening’s nightly event.

He would happily have stayed but Anthony would not let him. “Ezra you gotta go or you’ll be late. Don’t worry about your plate. You gotta go!”

Aziraphale was tugged onto his feet and pushed toward the Common Area before he quite realized what was happening. Anthony seemed so distressed by the idea that he might miss anything that Aziraphale did not argue. Though once he was some distance away he slowed and shoved his hands into his pockets. He still had the bracelet he’d meant to give to Anthony.

The realization slowed him even further, allowing Elijah to easily catch up with him.

“Hey buddy, everything alright? You seemed happy enough five minutes ago. What changed?”

“Oh, it’s nothing. I just… I’m a bit tired is all. Sometimes I wish lights out weren’t at 11:00 P.M.”

Elijah was quiet for a while as they approached the din of excitable campers. Before they’d gotten too close, Elijah reached out and put a hand on his shoulder. “You know if something’s bothering you, you can talk to me about it. Anything at all, Ez. Or you can talk to Martin if that’s easier. But if something’s bothering you, you should talk.”

“Right, of course,” Aziraphale lied. He couldn’t talk to Martin, the poor boy was struggling enough on his own and it was clear he just wanted to enjoy their time together. He didn’t want to hear Aziraphale mope. And as to Elijah? There was already plenty Aziraphale knew he couldn’t share. Why bother with anything else?

* * *

Saturday was the last full day at Camp Maple Lake. Tomorrow there would be breakfast, a lot of crying teenagers, and a long bus ride home. Today they were pulling out all the stops. The daily schedule had been nixed for an all-day scavenger hunt upon the completion of which one gained lake time straight through to dinner.

Maddy had volunteered to work the clue table, leaving more chaperones and counselors to wander the grounds keeping an eye on free-range adolescents. Tony was starting to wish she hadn’t. It was boring sitting all day at a picnic table in the Common Area, huddled in the shade of an ancient beach umbrella. His mother seemed to be enjoying herself. There were stacks of colored envelopes piled before her which she handed out to campers in exchange for certain items. Tony sat beside her strumming the guitar he’d borrowed from one of the counselors. It was really too big for him, its thick strings painful on his fingers after playing for too long.

He wished he were with Ezra.

“Ez!” Tony jumped at his mother’s voice, surprised to see Ezra and Martin running toward them. Both teenage boys were red faced and overheated from a day of physical activity out in the sun, although they smiled through their exhaustion. It looked like Ezra was having fun.

“Did you get your next item?” Maddy asked as they reached the table.

“Yes, Ma’am!” Martin said as he handed her the sort of polished stone that was sold in little draw string bags at the gift shop of every museum, aquarium and zoo Tony’s school had ever taken him to. 

Maddy studied it a moment and then plopped it into a small box beside her. Ezra was still catching his breath. “How are you doing, Anthony? Any chance you’ll join us on the next leg?”

Ezra and Martin had just turned in their fifth item of the day and this was the fifth time Ezra had asked that sort of question. Tony began to shake his head.

“Oh, go on. You don’t need to keep me company here. There’s enough campers coming by to keep me busy.” Maddy gave him a wave of encouragement. “Besides, you should take a break from that guitar before you get blisters.”

“Musicians are supposed to get blisters. You know, like in ‘Helter Skelter’. Ringo says it.”

Ezra, who’s hand was held out to receive the next envelope, frowned. That little crease between his eyebrows always made it clear when he wasn’t following what someone was saying.

“Nice try, kiddo. Now go help the big boys, even if it’s just for one round.”

She went back to organizing the clues and didn’t catch Tony’s eyes when he tried to send a message. She’d been the one to tell him not to be so possessive of Ezra’s time back when he’d first started high school. She shouldn’t be forcing him to ruin things now.

And Tony was certain there was something to ruin. As Ezra opened the envelope to read their next clue, Martin reached around him, nearly hugging him from behind, as he teasingly grabbed for the paper in Ezra’s hands.

“Behave!” Ezra swatted him but he laughed a little as he did it. He really did look happy.

Tony whispered to his mother as the older boys read their clue allowed. “Can I _please_ stay? I’ll rest my fingers and I’ll help sort the items all the campers brought back. Please let me stay.”

His mother looked concerned but smiled brightly when Ezra turned back around. “Tony’s feeling a little dehydrated actually. I should probably keep him out of the sun and make sure he gets something to drink.”

“Oh…” Ezra said quietly. “Alright then. I’ll see you after the next item.”

He looked forlorn for a moment but soon Martin had grabbed his arm and was pulling him down to the path, teasing gently until Tony could hear Ezra laughing in the distance.

Tony put his head down on the clue table and sighed.

His mother turned to him, “Come on kiddo, what’s going on? Are you avoiding Ezra?”

Tony was spared from having to answer right away by the arrival of three pairs of campers all eager for their next clue. He might have used the time to come up with a lie or something, but he saw no reason not to tell her the truth. After all, it was basically her idea.

“He’s actually making friends. I don’t want to get in the way,” he said when the campers were gone.

His mother’s face softened. “Tony, you’re not in the way.”

“What do you mean I’m not in the way? You told me not to get all jealous when he spends time with other people. That’s what I’m doing. I’m getting out of the way.”

“Oh honey, we had that conversation after you were rude to his teacher and when you were getting mad that he would occasionally visit with his dance friends or go to rehearsal. That doesn’t mean you can’t ever spend time with him, especially not when he explicitly invites you. Has he been trying to get you to join in all week?”

“Yeah, but he’s probably just being nice. Anyway this is different because he can’t do all this camp stuff at home.”

“Tony…” She put an arm around him. “Have you talked to him about this? It’s feeling a bit like a repeat of Halloween. I thought you two agreed to be more open. Why are we sliding back?”

Tony slipped out from her embrace so that he could look around properly and make sure no one was listening. Then he turned very red. “I can’t talk to him about it ‘cause… Well, you told me not to ask him about this… sort of anyway. I can’t ask him in case… in case he likes that Martin kid. I don’t want to get in the way if he does.”

He looked away from his mother. Her face was getting too soppy. “You’re willing to give up time with your best friend so he can spend it with a possible summer crush, just because you want him to be happy?”

Tony nodded miserably. His mother squeezed him. “That’s so sweet! Look at you growing up.”

“Mom!”

She chuckled and then spoke more softly, “I still think you should talk to him. You don’t need to ask if it’s a crush, just ask if he’s serious when he invites you along. He’ll be honest with you. He always is.”

Tony remained uncertain. There was less than a day left of camp; they could talk when everything was over. Either way, this particular conversation with his mother was bound to come to an end just now. Elijah was approaching them.

“Hey there, you two. I just ran into Ezra and Martin on one of the paths. Ezra said you were feeling a little dehydrated, Tony. You want to come with me to the Mess Hall so you can get something to drink?”

He might have said no but something about Elijah seemed off. To Tony, he usually seemed overly excited about everything but now he lacked energy. Tony wanted to know why.

So he nodded, hugged his mother goodbye and joined Elijah as he entered the neighboring building. The Mess Hall seemed bigger when there wasn’t anyone inside it. The tables had all been pushed to the side so the floor could be swept. Tony hopped up onto a window ledge to sit while Elijah snuck into the kitchens to ask the staff for extra supplies.

He returned with two cups an and entire pitcher of Kool-Aid. Elijah gave a wan smile as he settled by Tony’s side and poured him a glass. “As soon as the cooks heard it was for the camp’s resident elementary schooler they insisted I take the whole thing. Slipped me one of these too.” Elijah pulled a cookie wrapped in wax paper and handed it to Tony. “They really seem to love you.”

“Being cute has its advantages,” Tony said stuffing his prize into one of his own pockets.

“What are you saving that for? When I was your age I would eaten that the moment I got my hands on it.”

“I don’t got that much of a sweet tooth. I’ll give it to Ezra.”

Elijah’s face clouded and, for a moment, Tony became very worried. He remembered the other part of the conversation he’d had with is mother in the early autumn. She hadn’t trusted Elijah to support Ezra if he liked boys. Elijah had said he’d seen Ezra and Martin earlier- maybe he was suspicious.

But then Elijah said something that caught Tony off guard. “You really are his best friend, aren’t you?”

“Huh?”

“I mean… Tony, why haven’t you spent any time with him this week?”

“S’like you told me at Christmas, sometimes he’s got to do stuff with kid his own age. I don’t want to get in the way.”

There was a very long silence and then Elijah surprised Tony again. “I think I’ve been a bit of an idiot.”

This was strong language by Clark family standards.

“What about?” asked Tony, who was pretty sure he could think of more than one example if given a minute.

“I- and to a certain extent Ezra’s mom- we’ve been very worried about him socially ever since he came to live with us. He’d always been very slow to make friends and even then he only gets so close. But I’ve seen him this week and a little bit last week and I don’t think the problem is quite what I thought it was.”

Much to Tony’s annoyance he stopped there. “Are you just thinking out loud or are you talking to me?”

Elijah laughed and refilled Tony’s Kool-Aid cup, “A little of both, I guess. Should I stop?”

“No. But you should stop stopping in the middle of an idea.”

“Sorry. It’s… Ezra is very observant about other people’s feelings. He’s always thought about others before himself. He tries not to make other people uncomfortable even if they’re bothering him. It’s usually only on someone else’s behalf that he’ll make waves. I saw him do that last week. Martin was getting picked on and he stood up for him. He takes care of other people. Him not engaging isn’t the problem. The problem is he won’t let anyone else take care of him. If he thinks his own issues are going to get in the way he keeps them to himself. He won’t talk about them with Martin. I don’t think he’s ever talked about them with Keisha or the other dance girls. It’s always been work to get him to talk to me or his mom… That’s always worried me but now I don’t think it should have.”

“Why not?” said Tony, who was starting to worry about all of this himself.

Elijah smiled at him, warm, thoughtful. “He’s got you. I don’t want to hurt your feelings but, you’re so much younger than him that I kind of assumed things were a little one sided. That he takes care of you, looks out for you… but now I’m thinking maybe his friendship with you is the least one sided that he’s got. He talks to you and you, you’ve always been looking out for him, haven’t you?”

“Duh.”

“Right, so that’s why I’ve been kind of an idiot. I’ve been thinking about that for over a week now. Especially after…” He paused to consider his wording. “I have never seen anyone more at peace than Ezra when I woke him after we’d found out you were safe. He just… he _knew_ it was all okay. Then I just kept thinking about how much you two have cared about each other. Even that first night when we met you and your mom… You guys had such an instantaneous connection and you’re old enough now that I think I can trust you to take care of him right back. You promise me you’ll look out for him?”

“Course I will. I’d do anything for Ezra” Tony told him. He knew his face was probably stained red with Kool-Aid, but he did his best to fix Elijah with a serious stare. “Could you promise that too?”

Elijah laughed at first, as though Tony were being ridiculous. When Tony didn’t so much as smile, Elijah cocked his head to the side, “Of course I’ll look after him; he’s my son. You don’t even need to ask that.”

Tony hoped that was true.

* * *

The final day at Camp Maple Lake had been mostly enjoyable: the scavenger hunt, the last canoe trip onto the lake, the better than usual food. It was nothing he’d seek out again, and he would have enjoyed it more with Anthony, but it had been worth experiencing. Martin had been a pleasant companion, particularly after Aziraphale had stopped himself fretting over Anthony’s well-being. Aziraphale could imagine keeping contact via post or that messaging computer program he mostly avoided.

If only he could have gone to bed when dinner was passed because church camp would not go gentle in to that good night.

Every last camper was gathered around the campfire, dozens of them in their matching t-shirts, some crying, some raising their hands toward heaven. There’d been singing of the sort of religious rock music that Tony always turned his nose up at but even that had been preferable to what was happening now. Some of the campers had begun giving testimonials about their personal relationships with God.

It might have been touching if it hadn’t so quickly devolved into a strange sort of one-upmanship. The way people were going on made Aziraphale wonder if there were secret awards somewhere for ‘most artfully concealed brag’, and ‘least believable based on how long two campers had disappeared together during the scavenger hunt’. Even those campers whose testimonies lacked such hypocrisies seemed to be competing to seem the most godly, to prove to one another that they were true and pure.

That bit reminded Aziraphale a touch too much of his fellow angels and he began to doubt that he could handle this for another hour or so. He glanced around the circle. Elijah sat across the way, with Maddy and Tony, near the other chaperones. None of them were looking at Aziraphale just now. They were too absorbed in Kyle’s testimony, staring in confusion and disbelief as his story of religious epiphany kept veering into detailed accounts of girls he’d kissed that summer.

He made an excellent distraction. Aziraphale leaned in to Martin and whispered “I’m going to slip off to the loo for a moment. I’ll be back.”

The campfire wasn’t far from the boys’ cabins and, if he’d been telling the truth, he’d have gone quickly in that direction. Instead, he meandered off through a copse of trees that led him closer to the lake. He’d loop around toward the Mess Hall and use one of the facilities there if he needed to. Right now he mostly wanted to clear his head.

The lake was placid that evening. The world quiet as he distanced himself from the crackling campfire and overwrought adolescents. With a sense of relief he settled himself at the base of a tree from where he could look out across the waters. He’d missed spending time with Anthony during camp, but he’d missed spending time alone too. He couldn’t quite remember the last time he’d been anywhere more solitary than one of the cabin toilet stalls.

“Do humans always spend that much time in close proximity? I have been waiting for days to get you on your own.”

Aziraphale jumped, feeling for a moment as though his soul might fully vacate his human form. Gabriel had just materialized in front of him.

“Dear Lord!” said Aziraphale for lack of anything else.

“Well, not quite, but as close as you’re going to get for a while I suppose. I’ve got some paperwork for you to sign.” Gabriel approached, his immaculate suit out of place with the camp lake as backdrop. He wrinkled his nose as Aziraphale stood to meet him. “What are you wearing?”

Aziraphale glanced down at his teal camp t-shirt, the words ‘Blessings Summer Camp at Camp Maple Lake’ emblazoned across his chest. “It was required for the day’s activities.”

“Was not cleaning required?”

Aziraphale became very aware of how much sweat and grime he’d accumulated running all over the campgrounds beneath the summer sun. It was mixed with a fine layer of sun screen and bug repellent. He had no doubt that he reeked, although it was difficult to notice amongst the other campers who’d all acquired the same cocktail of scents. He flushed, knowing it would be useless to explain himself. He took the papers from Gabriel’s hands.

“What is all this about, anyway?”

“They’re forms,” Gabriel said, which was an utterly useless piece of information. Aziraphale had grasped as much with a glance.

“But why? I was under the impression that I wasn’t… that I am no longer a proper employee, if you will.”

“Right, but there was an incident recently. I’ve been sent to debrief you.” Gabriel pointed to the top form and handed Aziraphale a pen. “This first one is to say you understand that your powers were returned under emergency circumstances and that you no longer have access to them.”

Aziraphale signed quickly as he could, nearly writing ‘Ezra Fell’ the way he did at the top of all his school papers. It felt like so long since his real name had been in use outside his own head.

“The second one is a little longer. You’re agreeing that you won’t request the use of your powers for regular human emergencies and will only make such requests in the event of problems directly involving ethereal, occult, or otherwise super natural forces. Etcetera, etcetera.” He sounded bored, though his tone rapidly increased as Aziraphale reached the third and final form. “Here you are agreeing that the recent unpleasantness was the result of a rogue agent and that you won’t be holding either Heaven or Hell responsible.”

Aziraphale paused. This one wasn’t on heaven’s stationary. “Are you having me fill out paperwork from Hell?”

“Look, no one likes you,” Gabriel began, “No one likes the demon Crowley but he is, arguably, fulfilling a request from God- one he needs to complete so that _I_ don’t have to do this whole human thing myself. You are making sure that happens. Hell is aware of this. They are aware that if they cause trouble for Crowley, there will be problems with me that they don’t want to deal with. So they want it known and documented that Duke Hastur was not acting under anyone’s orders. And I want it known that your powers were returned only to make sure everything stayed on even footing. No one cheated. Hastur is the only one who should be in trouble.”

“Doubt he’s in enough trouble…”Aziraphale mumbled as he signed his name one last time. It was odd putting one foot back into the corporate side of heaven after being on the other side of things. He doubted very much that Hastur had gotten more than a slap on the wrist, despite all the terror and agony he’d caused. It was only human suffering after all. Not a one of them would have cared if Gabriel hadn’t been half convinced God might punish him for it. That and Aziraphale suspected Beelzebub didn’t want Crowley in so much danger that he reappeared in their office several decades earlier than expected.

Gabriel held a hand out for the pen and papers as he looked around at everything but Aziraphale. “Why are you out in the middle of nowhere, anyway? I thought humans had houses and things now.”

“Visiting nature is a form of recreation these days.” He paused before returning the forms. “Who exactly approved the return of my powers?”

Gabriel shrugged and yanked the papers from Aziraphale’s grip. “Someone must have gotten it in the prayer department and made the decision. I didn’t hear about it until afterward when it was time to get all the documentation in order.”

“Oh…” Aziraphale said. “Should I expect to see you again?”

“I hope not.” Gabriel looked him once over with a sneer. “Try to grow up a little faster. You’re a mess.”

Then he poofed away and Aziraphale could only assume he’d gone back to heaven.

He collapsed into the grass. All he’d wanted was a moment of peace and quiet, away from teenagers proclaiming their own religious experiences. Maybe they would be less inclined to do so if they knew how much paper work was involved.

Still, the grass was cool and lovely against his skin. He could stay here awhile yet, enjoy his solitude properly before anyone noticed or cared that he was missing. Only Martin even knew that he was gone and Martin-

“Ezra? Hey, finally found you!”

Martin had sought him out.

Aziraphale sighed as he sat up and put on a warm smile. The camp experience was important to the boy, he could get his time alone when all of this was over. “Sorry. I needed to get away from all hubbub for a moment. You’re welcome to join me, if you’d like.”

“This is better anyway,” Martin said as he sat down by Aziraphale’s side. “I’ve been wanting to talk to you.”

Aziraphale looked at him, puzzled. “We’ve talked all day, practically, especially out in the canoe.”

“I know but I mean talk to you alone. Even when we were on the lake there were still lots of people around. So I, uh, I…” The boy was suddenly flustered and shy.

Overcome with angelic pity, Aziraphale put a hand over one of Martin’s and offered an encouraging smile, “It’s alright, dear, you can tell me anything.”

“It’s, uh, I wanted to tell you how glad I was to have met you this summer. You’ve been so kind and brave and sweet to me.” Martin turned his hand over beneath Aziraphale’s so that he could lace their fingers together. All at once Aziraphale realized he’d misread the situation.

To him Martin was a boy, a child lost in a world that did not fully support him, in need of a bit of guidance and friendship. But Martin did not see an ancient being offering him a kind hand, he saw what he believed to be another lost boy in very much the same situation.

“I think there’s been a-”

Then Martin kissed him. It was thankfully brief, a quick brushing of lips, something more akin to bumping heads than an actual romantic encounter. Martin looked pleased enough, his pale face suddenly tinged with pink as a smile spread across his face. Aziraphale wasn’t quite sure what expression he was making himself. He knew he was blinking a lot. He must have been stunned.

“It’s alright, Ezra. No one’s around. The second one will be better.”

“N-no. I don’t think it will,” Aziraphale stuttered, starting to find himself. “I’m very sorry but I think you must have got the wrong idea. I’m not interested in you in that way.”

“Ezra, it’s okay. I know your dad probably doesn’t approve, I know my parents don’t, but I’ve been thinking about what you’ve said and I don’t think we’re doing anything wrong. You don’t have to be scared.”

He was lifting a hand up, clearly intent on touching Aziraphale’s face or running fingers through his hair. Aziraphale leaned away. “It’s not that. Honestly. I’m just… I don’t share your feelings.”

“But why?” Martin insisted, brows rising at the middle as he actually began to listen.

“Well, you’re rather young for a start.”

“I’m a year older than you!”

“Then _we’re_ rather young and I… I don’t need to explain myself to you. I’m sorry if you had the wrong impression but I’m not interested in a relationship. I’m sorry.” There was really no reason for him to be apologizing but Martin’s face had crumpled into heart break and Aziraphale pitied him.

Martin grew desperate. “Was that your first kiss?”

Aziraphale nodded, although that was not strictly true. He’d never had much by physical relations with humans before but he’d gotten so far as kissing on more than one occasion- particularly in times and places where the act had not been viewed as necessarily romantic. This seemed difficult to explain, so he didn’t bother.

Martin was grabbing for his hands again. “Mine too. We’ll only get better at it. I’ll show you. Give me a chance and I’ll-”

“I’m. Not. Interested.” Aziraphale said more firmly than before. “And you’re too good a person to pressure me. So stop.”

Martin flinched and finally pulled away. Aziraphale was relatively certain he’d finally gotten through but there was no way to be entirely sure. A voice called out from nearby and Martin put even more distance between them, fear of being found out mingling with his conscience. 

As to the voice, Aziraphale would have recognized it anywhere, in whatever form it chose to take. Tony came out of the trees, bounding toward where they sat in the grass. “Ezra, I finally found you! You were gone awhile. I wanted to make sure you were alright.”

If the child had seen anything he wasn’t making any fuss. Martin, however, looked a bit panicked. “Did the pastor send you?”

“Yeah, actually. Though I woulda gone anyway.”

“Well, we were just about to go back anyway. Weren’t we, Ez?” Martin stood, holding out a hand to help Aziraphale to his feet.

Aziraphale shook his head. “I think I’d like to stay and talk to Anthony, actually. If campfire ends before we come back, would you tell my father where I am?”

Martin glanced between them and then nodded. “Yeah, I will. And, um, I’m sorry about… everything. Would you mind if I still wrote to you?”

“Writing would be lovely, thank you,” Aziraphale said primly. Martin turned his back and began to trudge off toward the campfires, casting one last look over his shoulder. He looked so forlorn that Aziraphale could not quite leave things there. He called out, “I’m sorry this wasn’t what you’d hoped. Perhaps there’s only a few chances for the sort of high school summers you’ve imagined, but there’s so much life beyond that- so much life beyond the restrictive world you’re stuck in now. The things you’re hoping for will come to you eventually. Just hold on, will you?”

Martin’s eyes darted nervously toward Anthony, but when the boy didn’t react, Martin’s face relaxed into a smile. “Thanks, Ezra. And maybe you’re right. The way you talk sometimes, I think I might not be old enough for you. I’ll see around.”

He waved before disappearing amongst the trees.

Neither Anthony or Aziraphale spoke until he was gone.

“Anthony, dear, how long were you there?”

“Not that long. I saw him holding your hand and you looked awful uncomfortable. You alright?” Anthony plopped down on the grass beside him.

“Just fine. I’m afraid Martin felt a bit closer to me than I to him.” He studied Anthony, who stared right back at him. He still wasn’t certain how much the boy knew. He knew Maddy wouldn’t have taught him anything negative about homosexuals but he didn’t know if she’d told him anything about it at all.

“It’s okay if you want to be… to be friends with him. I don’t mind.”

They looked at one another. Aziraphale uncertain whether or not they were speaking in code. He supposed it didn’t matter much either way. Anthony’s willingness to share Aziraphale’s time, whether it was with a friend or otherwise, showed all manner of maturity and a sort of self-sacrifice that felt familiar. Aziraphale put an arm around his shoulder.

“There are different sorts of friends and we weren’t in agreement on the type. My fondness for him was more a protective sort of pity than anything else. He was comfortable telling me all sorts of things but I never got the sense he wanted to hear as much from me and I didn’t want to tell him much anyway. We’ll write, I’m sure, but it won’t be what he wanted.”

A silence fell between them and Anthony spent most of it glaring at the ground and picking at the grass. When he finally spoke he still didn’t look up. “Your dad said that. He said you’ll take care of anybody, but you don’t like letting people take care of you.”

“He did?” Aziraphale blinked. He’d lived with the man for five years already and still sometimes Elijah surprised him.

“Yeah, he said he shouldn’t bother you so much about it anymore.”

Aziraphale snorted. “I’ll believe that when it happens. Did he say what brought that change on?”

Anthony frowned at the lake. “He said he’d realized that I… that I’ll always do my best to take care of you. And he was right about that, except… I’m not sure my best is good enough.”

At last Anthony turned to him, pleading eyes wide with concern.

“Oh my dear boy, why ever would you think that? My father’s right on that account. You’ve had my back as long as I’ve known you. The more friends I’ve made the more I’ve realized how special that truly is. You’re the only one I’ve ever really been able to speak to. The only one who knows how to help me even when I can’t see it myself.” It had been true for most of their time as humans and far longer than that as well.

“But…” Tony said with a bit of a sniff. “I wanted to help you to… to find a place where you belong. And I hoped… I hoped if I brought you back here… maybe if you found a friend who was… who was like you… then maybe you’d feel… feel like you fit.”

“Oh, my dear, come here.” The arm around the shoulder became two as he pulled Anthony close as he could. “You needn’t worry about that. I’ve told you; I have someone who cares about me dearly, that’s all I need to be alright.”

Anthony’s little forehead was pressed against his chest, muffling his voice. “You sure?”

“Yes. Of course.” Aziraphale pulled away, just far enough to reach into his pocket and pull out the bracelet he’d made before the world had come crashing down. He gestured for Anthony’s hand, and the boy offered it, eyes wide with wonder while the friendship bracelet was tied around his wrist.

Anthony stared at it a moment and then took one of Aziraphale’s hands between his own. It was very different then the way Martin had done it. That had been possessive, the hold of someone who wanted something. This, however, was utterly giving. Anthony held his hand like a supplicant held the hand of a priest.

“Angel, I’ll be enough for now but I promise, whenever I can, I’ll make sure you find a place where you belong. Honest.”

There was such earnest intensity in Anthony’s eyes that Aziraphale did not know what to say. Being a child was an odd experience. Aziraphale could feel himself changing, growing, all of it far more rapid than seemed fair. He’d grown nearly half a foot in the past year, begun shaving, suffered through all the pangs of adolescence. Anthony, from the outside, had not changed half so much. He was as sweetly round faced and near so small as he’d been the previous summer.

And yet he’d transformed. Last summer this boy had been pouting and throwing fits whenever Aziraphale’s attention was elsewhere. Somewhere between the year’s bouts of drama, Anthony had found the time to mature.

Aziraphale had followed him to earth to look after him, but how much longer would he actually be needed?

“Thank you, Anthony, for the promise. But that doesn’t need to be anytime soon. I… like this, right now. I think I want to hold on to it while it lasts. I’m not in any hurry to change things.”

Anthony nodded, that lopsided little smile of his returning to his face. He curled into Aziraphale’s side as they stared out at the lake. Aziraphale held him tightly, wishing, for a moment, that he had his angelic powers back.

He was proud of how Anthony was growing up but a part of him wanted to stop time, to keep everything just like this a little while longer. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So we’ve reached the end of Part 3. Thank you to everyone who has read this far. Keep an eye out next Wednesday for the start of Part 4!


End file.
